


The Widening Gap *Completed*

by Starry_Emerald173



Series: The Gap [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom, The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Earths, Alternate Universe, Angst, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Earth versions, Eventual Smut, Hydra (Marvel), Hydra Steve Rogers, Hydra Tony Stark, Inhuman Reader (Marvel), Inhumans (Marvel), Mutant Powers, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, so slow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:08:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 24
Words: 35,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26665711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starry_Emerald173/pseuds/Starry_Emerald173
Summary: An alternate earth adventureAn Inhuman Avenger, Soulmate, and all around badass (you) falls through a breach to another Earth - one where Hydra runs the world, your family is fractured, and the Avengers are terrorists.To top it all off? Your soulmate mark on this earth matches someone else.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, Steve Rogers/Reader
Series: The Gap [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2023619
Comments: 80
Kudos: 144





	1. Earth 31

**Author's Note:**

> A/n: Yes, yes, I know Cisco and the breaches belong to DC and the Avengers to Marvel but let's be real - it's fanfic and we can do what we like!

_ Phoenix, Arizona - Earth 31 _

“Be right with ya,” You call over your shoulder as the bells on the diner door chimes sound. “Have a seat anywhere ya like.”

It’s shaping up to be another scorching day, and the diner is already doing a more-brisk-than-usual Saturday morning business. You’ll be lucky if you aren’t run off your feet by noon. Maybe you can convince Dave to call Marley in early…It’d be nice not to have completely screaming feet at the end of your double shift today...

The silence is what tips you off, mid-pour on a coffee refill.

There isn't so much as a fork scraping against a plate or a laughing snort or a grumpy harrumph in the entire diner as you turn and see just how utterly fucked the day has gone.

Steve Rogers and James Buchannon Barnes are standing there, in full tactical gear while the Saturday morning crowd sweats and stares between two of the most well-known people on the planet and you - the object of their very pointed interest. They’re ranged evenly, spaced between you and the door.

If this were a movie, you’d have dropped the orange-rimmed pot of decaf coffee you were carrying in an aesthetically pleasing display of gravity and spill of hot liquid on the cheap flooring.

Instead the liquid inside just shakes, giving away the tremor in your hands.

“Civilians.” Rogers speaks first, the very picture of calm authority in his dark suit, shoulders broad against the light spilling in from the front windows. The familiar tone makes your skin break out in goosebumps and you have to steel yourself against the spike of pain - of homesickness - that surges through you. The lights overhead flicker. “Please evacuate.”

It’s a miracle no one is killed in the rush for the door. Dave shoots you a wide eyed look as he passes you, but he doesn’t stop, and you can’t blame him. He’s just a diner owner and cook - you’re just his newest waitress.

Or well, you  _ were _ .

And then the last of the civilians is gone.

Leaving you alone with arguably some of the most dangerous people on earth.

Well, on  _ this _ earth at any rate.

Neither of them moves, but you can read the tension in both of their bodies - braced for you to start swinging, for the fight to start. As if facing off against two serum-enhanced soldiers is going to end well for you, even with your powers.

One of them? You might risk it, make a play for escape. Your abilities  _ might _ let you even the field, and you’ve spent enough time around both of this earth’s versions of Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes to know that they fight the same as they do on your earth.

But both of them? No way. The risk of collateral damage is too high, and the outcome is too certain to be worth it. You’d just walk out of here beat to hell and back. Better to save your energy.

You blow out a slow breath, and want to laugh as a strand of hair is buffeted out of your face. “Mind if I set this down? Dave doesn’t have a huge budget for broken pots.”

Rogers, gracious as ever, uses one of his many wordless looks to say ‘go ahead’. 

A million scenarios play out in your mind and you discard them all equally quickly as you walk - slowly - to the counter and set the pot down. Your fingers are shaking as they untie the apron, fold it, set it on the counter as well as you calculate the odds.

“So,” You can see some of the tension bleed out of those powerful bodies as they note the acceptance in your voice. “How does this play out?”

Your eyes move over them and oh, yes, even after a year since you came through the breach, it still hurts to look at them - these faces you’ve known so well in another life, another world, and to see so many movements and features that are more familiar than your own but are so alien at the same time.

Rogers holds out a pair of mechanized gloves. You’d recognize Stark’s work anywhere, and you swallow with a drying throat at the thought of being restrained, stripped of your powers. “That’s up to you, y/n.”

“S.T.R.I.K.E. team outside?”

“Three, actually.” Barnes says in a terrifyingly calm voice. His face is unreadable, a first since you came to this earth.

“I’m flattered.” What a joke - you’re scared spitless. One team might’ve been justifiable - three? Three is overkill. Three says this is more than the personal hunt you’d anticipated after bombing the Bridge lab and escaping custody once before. Three says they need you for something - and badly enough that they aren’t willing to risk losing you again.

“Put these on and come quietly.” Rogers is the picture of reasonable civility as you take a few hesitant steps forward. The only way out of the diner is their way and all of you know it.

“Okay.” You let out another breath and slide your hands into the mechanized gloves, which whir to life before forcing your hands into curled fists that magnetize together. “Neat trick.”

Rogers takes you by the arm - the dangerous fugitive literally in hand - and the three of you move to the door, out into the bright sunshine.

The street looks like a standoff scene from a summer blockbuster and wonder idly if there is a Michael Bay on this planet. Local police, S.T.R.I.K.E. team interspersed. Snipers on the roof across the street. News vans as close to the police barricades as they can be, cameras pointed at the three of you.

You have no doubt that your face will be on every morning news report in the next hour. The optics are too good to pass up - ‘look at us, enforcing law and order, protecting the civilians from the dangerous inhuman’. You can’t pay for press like this.

And on everything, including the prison van they’re marching you towards, that stupid red symbol is stamped - the skull and it’s terrible tentacles. Hydra’s logo in place of S.H.I.E.LD.’s

God, you hate this Earth.

_ Fifteen Months Ago…Earth - Home _

_ “Y/n! Hold on!”  _

_ He isn’t going to get to you in time, you realize, watching the edges of the breach ripple again. The breach is failing, and you’re on the wrong side of it except for one hand, which is holding on to the railing edge. And if your hand is still on one side of the breach when it closes… _

_ He can see the realization hit you and shouts over his shoulder. “Cisco, hold it open!” _

_ Behind him you can see Cisco - already unhealthily pale - all of a few seconds from unconsciousness as his friends hold him upright. _

_ “Don’t you dare-” He starts to order you and you smile because it’s just such a  _ him  _ thing to try and do in the face of a terrible situation - trying to order you out of the inevitable. He doesn’t handle being out of control well at all, and you’ve teased him more than once about that. Usually while disobeying said orders in the field. _

_ “I love you. I’ll find a way back to you.” You promise as the breach edges flicker again, more strongly. You have seconds, at most. _

_ “No, no, y/n!” _

_ You let go of the railing. _

_ The breach’s surface closes above you. _

_ The last sight you see from your earth before the breach seals as you fall is your soulmate’s face. _

_ Earth 31 _

The S.T.R.I.K.E. team makes quick work of getting you into the transport. Two men keep a gun on you while two others secure the restraints that anchor you to the bench in the back of the transport while the reporters in the background snap photos.

Surprisingly - or perhaps not, considering - Barnes joins you in the back with the S.T.R.I.K.E. team and Rogers closes you into the small space.

Rather than look at the man across from you, you tip your head back and stare at the ceiling of the transport as the truck rumbles to life, sending a low vibration through the floor under your feet.

It doesn’t mean you can’t feel those glacially blue eyes boring into you - studying you. James Buchannon Barnes’ intensity still makes your skin crawl. Partially the sniper, studying prey. Partially the man, who you still don’t fully understand in this bizarro world you find yourself in.

“How’d you find me?” You finally ask.

“Kid visiting from Scottsdale got you in the background of his instagram picture.”

Figures. “So…Who’s got the roadtrip playlist? Can I make a request? ABBA maybe...”

One of the S.T.R.I.K.E. members snorts disbelievingly.

The Winter Wolf - Barnes’ title on this earth - narrows his eyes at you. “You’re going to take a page out of Stark’s book? Jokes? Really? After...everything...that’s what you’re going with?”

You shrug and lower your chin to meet his eyes. “Why not? And how else did you think this would go? That I’d apologize for blowing the Bridge lab to hell and back? That’d I’d be excited to see you all again, help you force a breach between worlds so Hydra can try to 'pacify'  _ my home _ ?”

“How about the part where you deserted your soulmate?” He fires back, apparently uncaring about what the team sitting around you will hear and it’s another jarring note against your memories of Bucky Barnes in your world, who is so intensely, painfully private.

The best part of being on the run for the last year? Not having these moments of intense, intimate whiplash dealing with the doppelgängers of your nearest and dearest.

“I don’t have a soulmate on your earth.” It’s not the first, or the fortieth time you’ve said it. It’s not the first or fortieth time you’ve watched Barnes’ eyes flash in anger at your denial. “My soulmate is on another earth, Barnes, for the last goddamn time…”

You’d honestly thought he’d be pleased at the denial when it all came to light, given that you were an inhuman, which was about half a step up from being a terrorist in this world.

“Even if I am,” Even considering the possibility makes something inside you clench in revulsion. The man who bears your matching mark on this world is worse than a stranger - he’s the antithesis of everything you stand for, a living embodiment of a point of view you can’t even begin to understand. “So what?”

His frustration is evident. On this earth, James Buchannon Barnes is a  _ hero _ \- he’s not used to not getting his way, especially with the ladies. He can fast-talk damn near anyone into damn-near anything and he knows it, uses it. Relies on it. People practically trip over themselves here for the charming man and the dangerous Winter Wolf. Just one more way in which this earth is not your favorite. “I don’t understand you.”

“The feeling,” You assure him. “Is entirely mutual.”

He opens his mouth to reply and the whole world shakes as the transport flips.

Your head smacks the side of the transport and everything goes mercifully dark.


	2. What Fresh Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How You found yourself on a new Earth, and how the Avengers of Earth 31 find you...Plus, PLOT TWIST

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Not really sure where this work is going, so feel free to drop a comment with thoughts/feedback (especially about who y/n's soulmate is). Thanks for reading!

_Fourteen Months Ago...Earth 31_

A month's worth of running and you couldn't anymore.

What you were going to attempt tonight was...reckless. Stupid. If Natasha could see you now, she would call you seven kinds of dumb, and you would let her.

But the truth was, you were out of options and out of ideas.

You had no way to find a breach home - and you knew that Cisco would be trying - and no resources to help you wait out this hellscape you'd fallen into.

Which was why you were here, in this world's New York, in a dress you'd 'borrowed' from an uptown apartment you were...commandeering...while its owners were elsewhere.

Some things were the same as your Earth, as it turned out, and the Stark Industries Annual Gala was one of them. Stark Tower - lit up like a phallic beacon against the skyline - was mercifully unchanged in layout, and you'd managed to sneak in by glomming on to a group of socialites when they'd spilled from their limo through the doors.

Another thing that was the same?

The Stark penchant for throwing over-the-top parties.

Now you'd just have to see if Tony Stark was enough like your Tony Stark and was hiding in his lab instead of being present at his own event. And if that insatiable curiosity would be enough to let you hook his interest.

“I thought I knew everyone on the guest list, but I definitely don’t know you, doll.” The familiar drawl makes your throat go dry even as Natasha’s spycraft training kicks in, pulling your lips into a soft smile as you turn.

You’ve seen his face on the news, on the papers, since you got here, so you knew, roughly, what to expect as you looked at this earth’s James Buchannon Barnes. It still didn’t prepare you for the reality though.

He’s  _ devastating _ .

Casual stance, white buttoned shirt left bare to the hollow of his throat, hair short and carelessly tousled. His body language is lazy, confident. Cocky, even. No trace of the scars your Bucky bears, mentally or physically. 

He’s smiling at you, blue eyed devil, and if the sharp quirk at the corner of his mouth is any indication, he’s well aware of the impact he has on the opposite sex.

This is a Bucky Barnes who’s never been brainwashed or forced to kill. This is a Bucky Barnes - Winter Wolf, they call him here - who kills of his own volition, and sleeps just fine at night.

Oh, if you thought you were homesick before...it’s nothing compared to the feeling that churns in your gut now.

“Now’s usually when someone offers their name.” He leans in, smiling. "I'll go first. James."

"Y/n." You manage to strike a note of amusement, followed by an arched eyebrow as he takes your hand and presses a kiss to it with a wink. "You _are_ trying, aren't you?"

"Well," The shrug he gives you is all 'aw shucks' as he releases your hand and grabs two glasses of wine from a passing caterer, handing one to you. "I don't know if I'd sleep tonight if I didn't, given that you're the most beautiful woman here."

"Flattered. But not interested, James."

"Ain't that a shame. Sure I can't change your mind? One dance?"

"I'm all left feet, I'm afraid." On the outside, your voice is confident, polite, and only slightly apologetic. On the inside, you are a live wire of nerves - this was not the plan, and you really really need to find Stark so you can work on Operation: Ruby Slippers and get the fuck home.

“Ain’t that a shame.” There’s speculation in those eerily familiar eyes and you know he’s not thinking about the vertical kind of dancing now. When he reads the look on your face, he steps back, hands up. "I can take a clue, doll. You change your mind, come find me."

Your heart is pounding in your chest as you watch him walk away.

Time to find Stark.

You do manage to find Stark.

You even manage to find him in his lab, half buried in some tech designs, muttering to himself. He doesn't even look up at you as you enter the lab, and you take a minute to observe this world's Stark. 

He moves the same, mutters the same. Based on the build of the tower and the tech you've seen stamped with the logo, he even creates a lot of things along the same lines.

"Take a picture," He says without looking at you. "It'll last longer. In the meantime, tell me who you are and what you're doing in my lab before I call security - this is a restricted space."

"The passcode is 'Batman sucks'." You say, because you have to make him hear you before you get into the absolutely unbelievable stuff. "The access codes for Rogers and Barnes are, respectively, 'Capsicle' and 'Manchurian'. Based on the length of stubble you're rocking, you've been in here for at least two days, and Pepper probably only got you to leave long enough to shower and change into that suit for the event happening upstairs."

You have his undivided attention now, eyes narrowed on you suspiciously. 

"My name is y/n. And I need your help."

Stark is staring by the time you finish summarizing.

“I know it sounds crazy.”

You've also left out a lot. Your Inhuman status. Details about your world. You know that he knows you've over-simplified the story, and he knows that you know that he knows. He doesn't ask questions about the differences between your worlds, only about the breaches, about Cisco's abilities.

“It actually explains a lot about the last two weeks.” He casts a map with glowing dots into the middle of the room. “We’ve been detecting these...breaches...all over, but we had no idea what they were. The sorcerers have been losing their freaking minds...you have no idea - something about disintegrating boundaries of space time, the end of the world...it’s been stressful.” He watches you as you drift closer, counting the breaches they've tracked. “Alternate earths though...”

“Can you...can you predict where these breaches are going to come through next?” Oh, you try not to let your hopes up, but...

“Sorry kiddo." Tony shakes his head, leans back against one of the workbenches. "We’re mostly just trying to get there before they close. If we get you through though, the breaches will stop?”

“Yep.” Your heels are starting to get uncomfortable and you shift your weight. “My friend - the one who’s opening them, he’s just trying to find me.”

“Okay." A hand through that playboy hair as Tony considers. "Okay. We’ll have to get Wong and Strange over here tomorrow. No offense," He tosses at you. "but I'll want them to confirm this story." An impatient sigh as his eyes drift to the clock on the wall. "Pepper’s going to kill me if I don’t get out there soon...I’ll have F.R.I. assign you one of the guest rooms in the meanti-”

“Stark, your wife looks like she’s about ready to murde-” Barnes' head pokes into the lab “Oh. Y/n.”

“James.” You say.

“Tony.” Stark rolls his eyes at the pair of you.

“Pepper wants you.” James jerks a thumb in the direction of the elevator.

“What else is new?” Tony demands, grabbing his suit jacket. Tony Stark’s sass is apparently another constant of the universe as he turns back to look at you pointedly. “We’ll discuss this more tomorrow.”

“So, you actually know Stark?”

“It’s...complicated." You have no desire to be standing here alone with Hydra's number three, and you're already moving towards the door.

"Why do I get the feeling you don't like me very much?" Bucky - no, _James_ you correct yourself - asks, trailing behind you.

You shrug. "Sounds like a you problem, if I'm being honest."

He laughs and oh god, you really hope you don't have to hang around this earth much longer because that easy careless sound twists you up inside as the elevator doors open and the pair of you step in. "So, you work for Stark, then? One of his scientist legion?"

"No." You have to give him more information - you can see it around the corner of his eyes that he's thinking this is all a little too odd. "I'm here for a...special project. Can't talk about it."

"Well, if you need a tour guide while you're here..."

"Taken." You put a little steel into it now because you do not need James taking this strong of an interest in you. "Very." You add, clocking the way his eyes drift to your fingers.

"Soulmate?" He asks.

You're saved from answering as the Tower shudders around you both, and the elevator drops with the force of a concussive wave. You slam the wall, then the floor before the emergency breaks scream to life, stopping the car. It takes your brain half a second too long to realize what's happened as the elevator lights flicker, strengthen, and resume.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y?" Barnes asks, finding his feet and then helping you to yours.

"Yes, Sergeant?" The lovely lilt should be reassuring, but it makes you shiver.

"What happened?"

"An explosive device was set off on the event floor. I am in contact with the team now - casualties are to be expected."

His eyes find yours, barely apologetic. "I need to be up there. F.R.I.D.A.Y?"

You nod, because really, what else can you do?

"The elevator system is uncompromised." F.R.I.D.A.Y. informs you both. "Operations will only take another ninety seconds to resume."

"You okay?"

Again, you nod, finally finding your voice. "What happened?"

“Fucking Avengers is what happened.” He snarls as the elevator begins to move smoothly upwards once more.

_ Now...Earth 31 _

The Avengers have taken you to a shitty cellar basement in a shitty worn down warehouse. The attack on the convoy had been precise, surgical. And now it was you, Barnes, and another set of familiar faces.

Romanoff’s eyes are practically venomous as they travel over Barnes, shackled like you, an EMP device fixed to his metal arm. 

Barton is here too - though he’s taken up post behind you - and the lack of wisecracks is messing with you.

Wilson is drifting around the room, eyes hard, arms crossed over his chest. He's the only one paying you much mind, but you don't like your odds of making a break for it with the way he keeps you in sight.

“Barnes, Barnes, Barnes.” Nat's voice is saccharine sweet, countering the poison in her eyes as she grins down at him while stepping closer to you. “Never thought I’d see the day when the Winter Wolf had a weakness.”

The concrete is hurting your knees as you try to lean away from her touch, because while you'd never seen a soft version of Natasha there is a hardness to this one that actually frightens you. Her hand grips the back of your head by your hair and you wince.

“She’s a fugitive Inhuman.” Barnes scoffs. “A criminal just like the rest of you.”

The look on Romanoff’s face says ‘do I look that stupid?’ as her grip turns punishingly tight  “Not just like the rest of us, though nice try.”

"You know you're going to get caught." Barnes attempts to change the topic. "You know Crossbones and Commander Hydra are going to find us. Do you really think-"

Natasha is laughing at him as she wrestles you back to your feet. "Why do you think we took you both?" She asks. "How the hell else are we supposed to get Rogers and Rumlow to poke their heads out? The Commander's best friend, and Crossbones' soulmate? And how does that work, exactly?" She asks in a nasty tone of voice as she grips your arm. "Do they know how much you care about her? I can't imagine the Commander being okay with you wanting your boss' girl."

"Fuck you." Barnes grits.

The smile he gets from Nat in return is a shark smile - all predatory teeth - but the back and forth is interrupted by the all-too-recognizable sounds of gunfire.

"Hurry this up," Wilson snaps. "Do it, Nat, then let's go."

It isn’t til she’s dragging you out of the room that you realize something else entirely is going on here. 

Barnes is shouting as Barton and other Avengers hold him down before Nat shoves you to your knees and pulls a gun. The large man shadowing her slams the door between rooms shut on James’ scream as you look down the barrel of the gun.

_Finally_ is the only thing you can think.

You send out an apology to your soulmate, on another earth. 

You’re sorry you broke your promise. That you couldn’t come home.

That you’re ready for it to be over.

Romanoff squeezes the trigger.


	3. Last Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last morning on your earth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Ahhh! Thank you for the comments!
> 
> This scene basically wrote itself this morning - enjoy 😊 
> 
> More action coming soon

_ Fifteen Months Ago - Home _

_ “You’re happy.” There isn’t an uptick at the end of the sentence, but it’s a question all the same as you lie draped across your soulmate’s chest, his fingers playing along the sweep of your shoulder and spine with a laziness his words betray. _

_ You let out a soft purr, your body still soaked in the decadent laziness that always follows one of your lazy morning sexcapades. “Very.” _

_ He taps your chin and you gaze up at him to find his face set serious. “I’m not talking about orgasms, y/n.” _

_ You lace your fingers together and prop yourself up a little more. “I’m happy. I’m delirious with happiness. And with orgasms.” _

_ His sigh is long-suffering but his smile is real. “You’re incorrigible.” _

_ You waggle your eyebrows and move to roll off him but his thick arm bands over you, holds you against him. “It’s part of why you love me.” _

_ “It is.” He agrees, smile gone over shades of boyish and you find yourself grinning up at him. _

_ You’re lucky - both of you - to have found your soulmates. To have found the one person in the universe who’s own skin matches your own where the spill of constellations and smoke of galaxies falls over the lower curve of your rib cages.  _

_ To actually  like and enjoy and trust them, long before the moment you’d realized you had more in common than working for the Avengers. _

_ You’re fully aware of the gift that the universe has laid at your feet - or, in this moment, across his bed because yours was too small and left his feet hanging off the edge.  _

_ Oh, you’d cracked a good one about his feet not being the only super-sized thing about him and had the joy of watching that face blush a rosy pink with shy, tentative delight at your teasing. _

_ “Y/n?” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice cut through the moment, just as you begin to press yourself up to kiss those soft, luscious lips. “Your visitors are here.” _

_ He lets out a soft groan as you smile at him and shove at his arm. “I forgot you had Cisco coming up this weekend.” _

_ “You don’t like Cisco?” You ask, sliding out of silk sheets because despite your soulmate’s upbringing, you might have corrupted him with little traces of hedonism along the way of your initial courtship. _

_ Silk sheets on his bed. _

_ Scented luxury soaps in the shower. _

_ Dark chocolate in the cupboard for those ‘just because’ moments. _

_ “I like him.” Your soulmate tells you, eyes glued to your body as you start to dress and goddamn if it isn’t the most ego-boosting thing to see those eyes heat with desire again. “I don’t get half the jokes he makes, but I like him. It’s just...awkward...sometimes.” _

_ You snort, unladylike, as you shove your legs into your leggings and shimmy them up. “That’s just...Cisco.” _

_ “I’m glad he’s coming up to help you with your powers this weekend.” He admits. “It’s good that you have people to share that part of your life with.” _

_ “It’s a mutual exchange.” You sweep your hair to the side, start braiding. “His powers operate on frequencies too, even if his is more sound-based and mine is based on light. Apparently,” Your fingers finish the braid. “He’s able to open inter-planet portals now. I can’t wait to see it. I think I’m almost more excited for that than comic con today.” _

_ He shrugs, propping one hand behind his head and you try not to notice how lovely the movement of muscle in his arms and naked abdomen are because if you do, you’ll end up crawling back into bed with him for the rest of the day. _

_ “You sure I can’t talk you into coming with us?” _

_ “I think I’d cause a riot if I showed up at comic con, y/n.” He grimaces at the thought. _

_ “I dunno,” You pull on one of his sweaters, just because you  can and you know it drives him nuts to see you swamped in his shirts. “Hugh Jackman didn’t even place in the Wolverine lookalike contest. I bet you could show up in full costume and no one would realize it was really you.” _

_ “I think I’ll hang here today all the same.” _

_ You bound back onto the bed, press a smacking kiss to each of those glorious cheeks. “I’ll bring you back some cool merch. Promise.” _

_ The playful swat he gives your ass as you get back off the bed is everything. _

_ Now...Earth 31 _

“What just happened?” You ask Romanoff and Barton as the mobile jet launches.

The smile Romanoff gives you is pure Natasha as she grins. “We just faked your death, put a whole world of hurt on Barnes, and busted your ass out of Hydra custody. You're welcome, by the way.”

_ Finally is the only thing you can think. _

_ You send out an apology to your soulmate, on another earth.  _

_ You’re sorry you broke your promise. That you couldn’t come home. _

_ That you’re ready for it to be over. _

_ Romanoff squeezes the trigger. _

_The mechanized gloves whine, whir, and finally, die - sliding off your hands only to be scooped up by Nat._

_"Quickly now," She pushes you onto the floor, on your back, kicks your legs into an awkward, unnatural sprawl. "Don't move. Don't make a sound." She orders as she sprays the floor with a liberal trail of blood from a bottle you hadn't noticed. "We're going to get you out of here."_

_And then she opens the door you came through, but only enough to expose your feet and the blood trailing on her boots._

_"It's done. Let's go."_

“Why?" You ask, genuinely confused. "You don’t know me.”

“We have a mutual friend.” Barton says, continuing to adjust instruments in the cockpit as Nat stands and joins you. “They tipped us off on the route Hydra was going to take. Sorry for the bumpy introduction.”

“Oh, I know who you are.” That gets you a raised eyebrow. “Still doesn’t answer the question of why.”

"Someone we know vouched for you. And told us a story I'm still having trouble wrapping my head around. If it's true, it makes you an asset we can use." Nat takes a seat next to you. "On top of that? Anything that fucks with Crossbones' day makes mine. Pissing off Rogers and Barnes is a hefty bonus. Making Hydra look incompetent is a goddamn cherry on the whole sundae." Her eyes meet yours. "Welcome to the Avengers, y/n."


	4. Damn Cool in a Crisis

_ Fourteen Months Ago...Earth 31 _

“Fucking Avengers.” Barnes snarls again as the elevator reaches the floor the Gala was on, his hand finding your waist, stabilizing you as you find your footing on the debris-strewn floor. Stupid heels are barely better than being barefoot, and only just - you don’t want to slice your feet open on glass, metal, or stone, but it certainly doesn’t make navigating the floor any easier. “Come on, here.”

The smoke is barely clearing as the two of you pick your way down the hall, but your brain is already on autopilot, responding to the crisis unfolding. Without thinking, you reach down and rip a slit to mid-thigh in the tight-fitting skirt of the dress so you can move more easily.

“Medical kit on this floor?” You ask as Barnes’ eyebrows climb.

“Panel in the wall.” He presses on it, pulls a portable EMT kit from the wall. “You know what to do with this?”

“Yeah.” You take it from him with only the smallest of grunts. “I’ll do what I can. Go.”

The look he gives you is momentarily unreadable, then appreciative as he strides forward, no doubt to find Stark and co.

This is at least something you know, and know well. Managing the fallout. Helping the mobile civilians, doing what you can for the injured. Coaching them to help each other, pairing the wounded but mobile with the uninjured to evac down the stairwell.

The paramedics arrive momentarily, freeing you from first aid response to pick your way through the rubble, taking stock and directing the additional crews arriving.

This is what you’re good at, and for an hour or so, you forget what earth you’re on and just  _ are _ for the first time in a month.

You'd be lying if you said it didn't feel damn good.

It isn’t until you and a crew are working to lift a beam from a trapped couple that the universe slaps you back into reality.

“Let me.” 

Shock is an icy trickle down your spine, lifting the hairs along your arms and nape of your neck as an all-too familiar set of broad shoulders politely but firmly nudge you to the side. There’s a grunt, a moment as his hands find ideal placement on the beam and then with an exhale, Steven Grant Rogers lifts the beam and holds it for the crew as they check over the couple.

You can’t move.

There could be a second detonation right next to you and you wouldn’t be able to move.

You're fairly certain you've stopped breathing.

If seeing Bucky - James - was a shock to your system, this is a full on neural collapse as your heart races, your eyes widen, and your throat goes dry.

He looks like your soulmate on your earth -  _ your Steve _ . Dresses like him - simple slacks, blue button down with the sleeves rolled up over massive forearms dusted with sandy-blonde hair. You’re pretty sure it’s the exact same outfit your Steve wore to your last date night.

Minus the dust from the debris and blood and dirt.

You knew there was a Steve Rogers on this earth. Knew he was still a superhero, still super powered. Had been able to shove aside thoughts of him (after all, he wasn't your Steve) and had hoped to be able to avoid him entirely.

His hair is long, all over sunlight, pushed back off his face where that infamous jawline of justice is softened by the beard… _ oh _ , the first time you’d seen that beard...

Your brain is overlaying every memory of your Steve onto this stranger and sweet god, you just want to go home. Want it so badly your hands ball into fists and your throat clenches.

You realize you’ve been staring as his eyes meet yours, and there’s enough cool amusement there - a look your Steve could never pull off - to shake you loose of your own head. “Thanks. You got that?” You wait just long enough to see him nod and move on.

It’s hours later when the last of the survivors have been seen to and the body recovery teams have claimed the floor that the exhaustion catches you and you sag against one of the still-standing walls as the fatigue slams into you like a truck.

“You really took charge back there.” Steve Rogers hands you a bottle of water and leans against the wall beside you. “Not your first time?”

You huff out a breath of laughter. “Something like that.”

For a moment there is only silence as you gulp down half the bottle, both of you watching the scene. 

“Commander Rogers,” He offers a hand as you cap the bottle, squeezes softly as you accept and shake.

“Y/n.”

“So...do this kind of thing often?”

“Galas?” You ask, partially to deflect, and partially to distract because in addition to looking like Steve, he moves like him - the barely contained impatience as he shifts his weight, crosses his arms over his chest.

You can’t look away again - it’s like having spent a month in a desert and finally getting your first glimpse of water. Even though your brain knows this isn’t your soulmate, isn’t your Steve, you can’t stop drinking in the sight of him.

Rogers snorts and it pains something inside of you to see that familiar mannerism.

“A while ago. Feels like...a different life.” Hah. Look, you made a funny, even if only to yourself. 

“Well you, lady,” Rogers pushes off the wall and sends you an appreciative smile. “Are damn cool in a crisis.”

Your bark of laughter takes you both by surprise. “Sorry,” You say, drinking the rest of the water in one go. “My old boss…” The world wavers on you for a second and you think you might be about to cry, but your hand comes away dry as you rub at your eyes. “He used to say that. That same way.” You blink, trying to clear your field of vision. "Cool in a crisis."

Everything seems...far away.

“Y/n?” James rounds the corner and you see something flash across his face as he sees you and his best friend standing there. “Oh. Hey, Stevie.”

The world is definitely wrong. Wronger. Something is very very wrong with the world. Or maybe, you realize, with  _ you _ . Because the spots across your vision are growing, and your breath is labored. Panic begins to flutter under your breastbone.

It must show on your face, and because it does, they see it. “Y/n?”

Your vision starts to blur like a kaleidoscope. The floor tilts as you push off the wall, and Steve and James’ voices blend together in a sickening swirl of sound as the stage lights dim and you fall headfirst into the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: So I hope this wasn't *too* confusing a reveal, but in case it was...
> 
> Your earth - soulmate = Steve Rogers  
> Earth 31 soulmate =\= Steve Rogers


	5. Life Is But A Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, last update for a couple of days because hey, we all go back to work week...

_You laugh as Nat digs her knuckles between Wilson's ribs in retaliation for a snarky comment post-training session, content and exhausted, surrounded by people who have become your family over the last couple of years._

_"I am starving," You announce, heading for the locker rooms. "You two gonna keep goofing around, or join me for ordering an obscene amount of takeout?"_

_"Depends on how long it takes Wilson to take-backsies."_

_"Never!"_

_You roll you eyes as your stomach grumbles and you leave the full-sized children behind you._

_The shower is quick, perfunctory, because as much as you'd love to linger and give the Tower's water heater it's own workout, you need fuel. Now._

_You pull on a clean set of sweats and a bra, toss your dirty clothes in the industrial hamper, and are towel drying your hair as you step out of the locker room proper as you run into a broad chest that really can only belong to one person._

_"Jesus," Steve swore and the next few seconds were all awkward grabby hands as the pair of you clutched at each other to stay upright on the slick tile. "Y/n, what are you doing in here?"_

_"What am I doing in here? You're the one in the wrong locker room, Rogers." You tease and notice his eyes are glued to your mostly naked torso. "Gah! Creep!" You slap at him with your towel, realizing something is wrong when he catches your wrist in a tight grip. "Jeeze, Rogers, what's wrong with you?"_

_He swallows. Hard. And after a couple failed attempts manages to draw his eyes up your body to your face. "I've never seen your..."_

_Your arms cross over your sides self consciously, covering the mark that you were born with. It's pretty - you actually adore it - but it's not for anyone else, and it often prompts more questions than you want to answer. "Yeah, well..." You don't know what else you were going to say because Rogers - in one stupendously sexy move - strips his own shirt off._

_You might have a soulmate you haven't met yet, but you're not blind._

_Or dead._

_Or getting laid, at the present moment._

_Those supernova blue eyes are back on your face, heated, hot - your breath coming harder because there's a weight to this moment that your conscious brain hasn't quite caught up to._

_It isn't until your eyes catch on the splashes of color along the lower part of his ribs that you know as well as you know your own name and shock is like a lightning bolt, fixing your feet to the floor as your fingers reach out..._

_He twitches under your hands as your fingers slide up, following the curve of blues and purples and the flecks of white and gold._

_"You..." You have to swallow a couple of times because god, your throat is just dry as fuck. "I've never seen you with your shirt off."_

_"Right back atcha."_

_"Y/n, have you seen..." Nat stops a foot inside the door, a wickedly smug grin spreading over her face as she takes in the whole scene in seconds. "Wilson! Barnes! You aren't gonna believe this!" And then she's out the door like a shot and time is moving at normal speed again._

_"I guess we better get out there if we don't want her to tell the whole Tower."_

_Steve grins down at you. "Yeah. Yeah we better."_

_Nat tells the whole Tower, Stark pops open an excessively expensive bottle of champagne, and Bucky takes you aside at one point in the night to tell you how much he thinks you're good for Steve but if you break his heart, the Winter Soldier will un-retire._

_And when your chosen family are all passed out - Clint snoring loudly on the couch, Nat's fingers still curved around a flute of champagne next to him, Wilson's foot twitching as he mutters 'on your left' - you and Steve slip onto the balcony and watch the sun come up on a world that is different in only one way._

Fourteen months ago...Earth 31

You've had enough field experience to know that the floaty feeling that greets you on your return to consciousness indicates the presence of some serious, clinically dispensed drugs.

"Y/n?" Tony Stark is hovering over you, blurry at first, then clearer as you blink. "Can you hear me?"

“Whe...where am I?” It takes a minute for your eyes to focus. "How long was I out?"

“Stark medical facilities. Better part of a week.” Tony’s there, hovering over you. “You were bleeding internally after your little ride on the Tower of Terror. Almost lost you a couple of times. We got you patched up though," He reassures you as you try to push yourself up, wincing as the various lines move. "And aside from having no sense of humor or style, you’re going to be fine.”

It’s a struggle to move your hand, but it’s worth the grin Stark shoots you as you flip him the middle finger.

"See, kiddo? Already recovering." His gaze darts to the pair of super soldiers by the door and his voice drops. “They saw the mark on your ribs when the med techs cut your dress off. Please, please tell me you have an explanation for why it matches a mark on someone here even though you aren’t from this earth.”

Your eyes widen and that's enough of an answer to have Stark swearing with great creativity.

“He’s back on…” You have to swallow, try to move to a more upright position, collapse back against the pillows as Stark uses the remote to change the angle of the bed so you're more or less sitting up. “My earth. My soulmate. He’s not here.”

"You have opened up a goddamn can of worms today." Stark scowls as the dynamic duo join you. "Between that and talking in your drug induced sleep..."

You groan and it isn't a sound of pain. "How much did I say?"

"Pretty much all of it." He could look less amused you think, but it's Stark, so of course he can't. "You also mentioned something called Star Wars...You were quite upset that we don't have that, whatever it is." He adds as Steve takes up position next to him.

“There are some questions you need to answer.” You’re looking at Steve’s face, but it isn’t Steve anymore. Isn’t Rogers. This...this is Commander Hydra towering over your bed, glowering down at you, demanding answers. “So you really are from another earth?”

"I come in peace," You offer weakly, wishing like hell you weren't so damn drugged and knowing that's likely why you're having this conversation right now - better to interrogate someone who's hurting or doped up than fully recovered.

No one so much as smiles.

“And you’re an Inhuman.” It isn’t a question.

You look at Tony, who shrugs. “You may have...summoned?...some kind of light show when you started to come around out of sedation. Kinda freaked ‘em out.”

“It’s not...summoning...It’s not Magic: The Gathering.” At the blank looks all around you let your head drop back on the pillow. “God, this earth is the actual worst.”

“And you’re here because of another Inhuman. One who can ‘breach’ between worlds? One who’s been breaching here, repeatedly.” 

Jesus, how much did you talk while you were under?  “He’s looking for me.”

“Why?” Three letters and a world of suspicion in one word. It's impressive.

“Because we’re close." You shrug once, then again because it feels good to move. "Because I fell through one of his breaches and the guilt is probably eating him alive." Poor Cisco. "Because his family and my family have a long and storied history of saving each others’ asses. Take your pick.”

“Why haven’t you left yet?”

You roll your eyes and that does get you a smirk from Tony.  “Do you honestly think I would be here if a breach back to my own world, my own soulmate, opened up in front of me? That I would stick around in your shitty world that hates Inhumans and doesn’t have Star Wars?” You snort again as they all look at you with confusion, proving your point. “As if. Turns out breaching is more of an art than a science, so here I am. Still.”

“Your soulmate is on another earth?”

“Yes. We met when...well, that doesn’t matter." The less you say about your Avengers, the better. Best not to get everyone confused. "Point is, he’s there. I’m here.”

“But your marks match - they're identical - to someone on our earth.”

“Too fucking bad for them. Maybe there’s someone else on this earth with that mark.”

“You don’t care that you’d be stripping someone of their chance at finding their soulmate.”

You meet Barnes’ eyes, all pretense stripped away, and have a slight surge of vindication in watching all three men take a half step back before they realize what they’ve done because you might not be on your earth but you  _ are _ an Avenger. 

You were trained by Maria Hill and Natasha Romanoff and you have fought side by side with some of the best people in the universe against some of the worst without so much as a goddamn flinch.

You've been through things that most people can't imagine, let alone walk away from, including this hellish experience.

You've even faced down Clint Barton in a shooting contest and walked away with your pride intact.

“You trying to tell me someone on this earth - someone who works for Hydra - is going to be okay with having an Inhuman soulmate from another planet?” The unladylike noise out of your mouth is rudely loud “I’ve got a lovely oceanside condo in Kansas I could sell you.” You blink, concerned for a minute. “Wait, please tell me Kansas doesn’t have an ocean on this earth.”

“You’re not even willing to give this person a shot?” Oh, it hurts to see the eyebrows of disappointment lowered in your direction on a face that should be familiar and is instead about as alien as the surface of the moon.

“Setting aside the fact that I'm from an entirely different earth and already have my own soulmate there," You can't help it if your tone is sharper now. "Do you know what people on your earth do to Inhumans? The way they’re treated?” Your body is starting to ache under the meds pumping through your system now, and god, you’re so tired. “I just want to go  _ home _ . I want...” Ah, shit, these are some good painkillers because your eyes are watering and your voice is trembling. “Fuck. I just want to be home and back in his arms and for this to be some painfully fucked up nightmare after a night of too much ice cream and a horror movie binge.” 

You have to close your eyes and take a couple of deep breaths to get a hold of yourself. When you open them, all three men are looking at you with more fear than they had when you showed them your game face. Huh.

Another universal constant?

Men don’t really know what to do with a crying woman.

“I don’t want anything from this earth except to leave it. I swear. That’s all I came to Stark for - to find a way home.” You hope your sincerity shows through, because the alternatives...well, they aren't good.

“Stark, I leave you in charge for a week,” Brock Rumlow swaggers in through the door, voice already raised and it takes everything you have not to instinctively move away and find a weapon. “And what the fuck happened?” His eyes fall on you. “And why the hell are the three of you here with a civilian in the med-lab instead of hunting down those Avenger ass clowns?”

The three men trade a look.

Oh. Oh there's a shoe about to be dropped here, one bigger than Brock Rumlow being chummy with Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. You can feel it. Wait, you think to yourself, replaying his words. 

Brock Rumlow is their boss?

You are officially on the worst world ever.

"Is it too late to go back to being unconscious?" You realize half a second too late you said most of that out loud.

Stark chokes on laughter as Rumlow's eyes narrow on you.

"This...needs a little explaining..." Barnes is the one who steps into the breach, reaching for Rumlow's arm. 

"I'll say." Rumlow tosses Barnes' hand aside. "I spent the whole week chasing down this motherfucker the sorcerers say is poking holds in our interdimensional shielding -"

"Cisco?" You shoot Stark a glare. "You said you couldn't predict when or where he would breach, you lying sonovabitch."

"Wait, this -" Rumlow says a word you don't know but you know isn't flattering. "is connected to all of this? And you've got her up here instead of interrogation?"

"Brock, there's some things you need to know-"

Brock shoves Rogers aside as easily as he does Barnes, and though he doesn't shove Tony aside, he does shoot him a look that promises further conversation. "Who the hell are you people?" He asks you, the promise of violence ripe in his eyes, his body.

It's instinct. Plain and simple and stupid that has you shoving your hands out in front of you as you use your core to shove back, drawing on your abilities in a panicked rush because it's Brock fucking Rumlow back from the dead and in your face and looking like he's going to hurt you.

The blinding flash of light has all four men covering their eyes as you stumble out of the gurney, pulling out the iv's with one hand and using the other to keep up the barrage of light and color as you use the wall to take your weight.

"Stark!" Rumlow roars, half blind.

And the thin bands of metal you hadn't noticed around your wrists become crushingly tight and the light - your powers - sputter and then fade out completely. Suppression tech, you realize.

"Someone better tell me what the fuck is going on here." Rumlow growls, blinking as you make a half-drunken stumble for the door, only to be brought up short by Barnes' arms. "Right now."

Barnes' hands are moving, pulling the medical robe aside even as you try to tug it back until his other hand tightens around your throat - a clear warning - and you let him expose the curve of your hip, then your ribs.

You take a small vicious joy in watching the color drain from Rumlow's face because, man, Rumlow is an asshole on any world and it brings you much happiness to see him stunned into silence.

"It's a match." Stark says. "I ran the comparison myself, Brock."

"You can take your match and shov-" Your words are cut short as James' hand closes around your throat again, though at least he lets your robe go. 

Rumlow is staring at your face now, as if committing it to memory or searching for some kind of answer. "This has to be a fucking joke."

You agree. Or you would, if you could talk, but James is barely leaving you enough air to breathe, let alone talk as Rumlow stalks closer, hand reaching for the mark, slipping inside your robe. You back into James' body as you try to pull away, and Rumlow's fingers turn punishingly tight over your hip as he nudges the robe aside again. His hand cruises upwards, over the spill of colors and flecks of starlight, grip gone over gentle - reverential almost as he stares at it.

When his gaze comes up to yours, your drugged exhausted brain finally puts the pieces together and despite yourself you start to tremble as you shake your head. "No. No fucking way." James' hand doesn't tighten again. "Not _him_."

"I'm not thrilled either, sweetcheeks." Rumlow growls, a low sound, as he reaches that same hand up to brush your hair out of your face, brushing rough padded fingers over your cheekbone before partially cupping your face. "You are...the worst timed complication of my life."

This isn't happening, you think. No, no, no, no....It's your turn to pale as he raises the edge of his own shirt to show the matching mark emblazoned across his lower ribs.

Rumlow finally breaks his gaze away from you as he drops the cloth and looks at James. "Put her in the Guest suite for now." His eyes drop back to you. "We'll talk once these cowboys fill me in on what, exactly, is going on."


	6. Hard Choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: I'm having a morning where I'd rather write than work, and isn't that unfortunate?
> 
> As always thanks for reading/commenting/kudos-ing. It definitely feeds the writing machine 😘

_Now...Earth 31_

It's been six months since your rescue by and adoption of this world's Avengers. Six months of working with half of your family and hoping for a way home.

Instead, you've come to a place of choices, because now you _know_.

You already knew that Hydra wanted to find a way to your world, to spread among the stars and bring order - their order - to a cosmos filled with chaos.

You already knew that Stark was working on Bridge technology, before you blew his lab to hell and back and went on the run.

But what you hadn't known, until last night, was that every time Cisco punched a hole between dimensions, he was giving Stark more information about how to stabilize a breach - a massive one - between worlds.

And that...that you can't live with.

You pushed out a breath, ran a hand through your hair as the box-like construct of arcane lines and symbols shimmered around you. "We ready?"

Wong - Nat's prized informant within the sorcerer's faction of Hydra, rescued last night after his cover had been blown - nodded. "Good to go. The message will play a three dimension hologram in your earth, but stay inside the construct."

"Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi," You mutter and then roll your eyes at Wong's confusion. "This earth. Seriously." Another breath, and then it's time to give your message.

"Hey guys," You wave weakly as you look forward. "It's me. As you've figured out by now after your numerous breaches, I'm on a shittier version of our earth. Hydra runs the world, Brock Rumlow is alive, half of you are evil...I'm okay though - I found friends. And we're...we're doing what we can." You blow out a hard breath now. "But I need you to stop breaching, Cisco. Hydra is...they're trying to figure out how to build a stable breach - they call it a Bridge - so they can conquer other earths. Our earth."

The math is simple, you remind yourself, but it doesn't stop your eyes from watering. 

One life for billions.

You don't even have to think about it, not really, because that's the kind of cost-analysis the Avengers make sometimes.

"You need to stop. Every time you open a breach you give them more data, show them how to get there. You can't -" Your throat threatens to close up and you have to swallow past the lump there. "You can't save me without endangering our earth. You have to...you have to let me go. If I can...If I can find a way home, I'll take it." You look at the focal point - the lens - of the construct. "Steve," You see Nat start in the background and realize you actually haven't told her anything about who your soulmate is on your earth. "Steve, I'm so sorry. I'm so glad I got to know you." Your vision is going blurry with tears so you hurry it up. "I love you."

You nod to Wong who moves his hands and the construct shrinks, shrinks down into a glowing orange box that he presses between his palms, and then with a 'pop' that resonates through your jawbone, it disappears.

"You really don't think you'll find a way back." Wong's eyes are measuring. "You were saying goodbye."

You shrug as Nat joins the two of you. "I'm a pessimist. I want my bases covered. Sue me."

Nat takes you by the elbow. "Did my ears deceive me? Or did you say 'Steve' as in 'Steve Rogers'?"

You nod. "On my earth, he's Captain America. Or one of them. He's a good guy."

Nat snorts. "I have a hard time picturing Rogers wearing a white hat."

You grin at her. "Barnes is a good guy too."

"What? No way." She shakes her head, and just like that, the two of you are back on solid friendship ground. "No. You're lying. You're using this other earth thing to pull my leg."

"He's a bonafide hero." You tell her, leading the way towards the command center, enjoying the way her face moves like she's bitten something sour. "And not a half-bad baker as it turns out."

The command center is abuzz, as usual.

The Avengers may be an underground network of Inhumans and sympathizers and anyone else Hydra tried to crush under their boot heels, but since you joined the intelligence analysis briefings, they've been winning. And every win brings out more allies. More information. 

"You and Wilson are prepped for Boston?" You ask.

Nat grins. "I am. Wilson..."

You groan. "I swear to god, I'm going to clip those wings of his til he learns how to do a proper prep."

It's a toothless threat and everyone knows it. 

Nat leaves you there, embedded with the support staff and operations teams, where you're most valuable and least vulnerable. Hydra still thinks you're dead, and you are the Avengers' ace in hand because this may be a different world, may be a different landscape, but you still know how Rogers and Barnes think. Plan. Strategize. It unnerved people at first, how good you were at predicting what they would do. Now it's a tool, a useful tool, as you settle in for a day of playing quarterback with a mug of rough but functional coffee.

It all goes sideways the minute Nat and Sam touchdown in Boston.


	7. A Strange Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumlow makes a decision and your message gets through to your Earth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Hi lovelies! Another chapter wrote itself (unbeta-ed as always)

_ Then...Earth 31 _

You’ll say this much as you roll over and blink at the morning light coming in through the window; Stark’s medical team knows what they’re doing. You definitely don’t feel like you’ve been on the receiving end of major surgery. Aside from some lingering fatigue and stiffness, in fact, you feel mostly healthy and whole.

You give an experimental stretch as you push aside the covers, dressed in sweats clearly intended for super-sized bodies. It was all you’d been able to find, and you couldn’t stand the idea of going one more minute without a shower after Barnes had left you here yesterday.

Your feet hit the floor and you reach your hands up to loosely braid your hair back. Just enough to get it out of your face so you can continue stretching, exploring just how healed you might be…

It’s a little embarrassing, how you jump when Rumlow moves in the corner armchair and you flush, self conscious and half defensive as he just stares at you. Spooky bastard.

Now what?

“We should probably talk.” He says and you realize you asked that out loud. He holds up both hands as he stands, spins a slow circle. “I’m unarmed. I’m not here to hurt you. I just want to talk.”

You don’t buy it, not really. Brock Rumlow’s first - and only - love is violence, the same way Steve Rogers has to be a righteous, reckless idiot and Tony Stark a ruthless know it all. “Do I really have a choice?”

He huffs, a little laughter. A side of ‘look at me, aren’t I harmless?’ but you’re not willing to bite. “No. No I suppose you don’t.”

“I’m not your soulmate.” You tell him. “He - my soulmate - is on another earth.”

“Let’s start there. Your earth. Your friend is trying to find you.”

“And you’ve been able to figure out a way to predict where he’s going to punch through.” It shouldn’t surprise you - Stark _ is _ Hydra here for crying out loud - but the lie still stings like a wound. “Now that you know what he’s looking for, are you going to let me go?”

He sits back down instead of answering you.

“Are you planning on keeping me here?”

Yes.

The word has physical weight in the room even though it’s never spoken. It’s there in the set of his shoulders, the edge of his jaw.

You’re suddenly remembering how possessive, how territorial Rumlow always was. Of his missions. Of his status. His team. His weapons.

So it’s gonna be like that.

“You can’t possibly want me as your soulmate.” You try a new angle. “I’m an Inhuman, remember?”

He shrugs. “Not so long as Stark’s suppression cuffs are on. How does that work, by the way? The strobe lights you set off yesterday, the images that played out when you came out of sedation…I don’t think I’ve seen Stark this excited since we first discovered alternate dimensions.”

Oh, right. You’re going to tell the enemy how your powers work.

Not.

Rumlow smiles and it’s a smile you know - sharp edged and sharklike - as he reads the defiant lift to your chin accurately. “This doesn’t have to be unpleasant.”

He means it.

He genuinely thinks there’s a chance in hell you’ll cooperate with them.

Nat’s words are whispering in the back of your mind -  _ survive, use what they give you  _ \- but you’re not sure you can do _this_. 

Not even to get home? You ask yourself. To get back to Steve?

The thought is enough to make you decide.

Fight later, spy now.

“We’ll see about that,” Your tone is suspicious as you back towards the wall. Rumlow leads Hydra here, which means he’s smart, so he’s not going to buy a total reversal of your personality. You’ve got to play this just right... “What do you  _ want _ ?”

Oh, he thinks, watching you snarl at him as your lip lifts in an adorable version of a sneer, you are magnificent - inhuman or not.

Stark and Rogers had filled him in with what they knew about you so far, Barnes offering impressions because of the three he’s the most people-person, but in the face of you, awake, aware and moving…

Well, he can see why you made such an impression on the Winter Wolf.

He can see the shadow of first-class combat training in the efficient way you set yourself against the wall, deceptively casual, though your hands are still clenched tight as you look at him, waiting for an answer. Watching you stretch, all lithe and light in the morning sun…watching your deft hands pull that mass of hair up into a braid with the ease of long practice...

You’re beautiful.

You’re also dangerous - he can see the opaque shield of a professional operator behind the rich color of your eyes, the look that he knows means you're just as likely to stab him as look at him. A ruthlessness that can't really be trained into someone. You've killed before, he knows, without hesitating, and you're capable of doing it again.

The combination has him by the balls and by the throat in a way he couldn't have predicted.

But like he told you yesterday, the timing couldn’t be worse.

The Bridge project is  _ this _ close to being completed.

The Avengers are nearly crushed.

A soulmate is a weakness that the enemies of Hydra - his enemies - will exploit. An Inhuman soulmate could wreck his standing within Hydra. At least until he terrified the rank-and-file back into submission. Which, now that he's thinking of it, is probably overdue anyway.

He hadn’t come in here with any plan other than to pry as much information as he could from you. But somewhere between walking through the door to see you sleeping in the bed and you snapping questions at him, he made a decision - _him_ , Brock Rumlow, the man and not Crossbones, the leader of Hydra.

He’s keeping you.

_ Your Earth…Now(ish) _

Strange lets the recording play out again, looking up at Bucky with apprehension. “It could only have been sent by another sorcerer. It has Wong’s distinct flare, but there’s a twist on it. That’s as close I can get to verifying it is what it looks like.”

Bucky can actually feel sweat beading along his spine as he glances - as casually as he can - out the window of the conference room to where Steve is pouring over more books, more articles, completely absorbed in this quest to bring you home somehow as he attempts to teach himself interdimensional travel. “We can’t show him this.”

He knows what you’re saying in the message.

Not just the order to stop breaching - did you even realize how much like Stevie you sounded? - but the subtext of it. 

It’s a farewell.

It’s been a little over a year now since you fell through the breach. He knows that Steve could tell him the exact day they’re on, but Bucky...Bucky needs more distance than that. 

Christ, this is a clusterfuck.

How’s he supposed to convince his best friend that they have to stop?

Because he’s positive you’re right about that.

There’s an edge to your miniature form cast in that mystical orange-gold energy that can’t be hidden. A desperation. An exhaustion. 

No, Bucky thinks, an absence, a loss compounded by time and experience. 

He should know it - he saw it in himself for two years while he ran from Steve, from his memories.

You’ve given up hope - lost it to a slow erosion until only the practical reality remains.

How can he let Steve see this?

“Sergeant Barnes,” Strange’s voice is not unsympathetic. 

“Just let me think, Strange.”

“I really-”

Bucky snarls, too late noticing that Strange’s eyes are fixed on the doorway behind him, and he knows before he even turns that Steven Grant Rogers is standing there.

His eyes are glued to the recording of you, playing on loop.

“Punk,” Bucky tries, helplessly, and watches his best friend’s hand come up, as if he could touch you. Watches something snap inside Steve as his fingers meet only air particles that break and reform your image as his hand falls.

“Play the message, Strange.” 

Lifting one of those immaculately groomed eyebrows at Bucky, Strange starts it from the beginning.

Steve doesn’t move, except for the steady rise and fall of his chest.

When it’s done, and starts from the beginning again, Steve doesn’t ask to stop it. He watches again, and again, and again, until Bucky feels like he’s about to snap because watching Steve hurt himself has never been a thing he’s been able to do and that’s what this looks like. Your soulmate punishing himself by watching your face, hearing your voice, over again.

“Enough.” Finally, Steve speaks, jaw clenched tight as his fists. “Get Cisco and Stark up here.”

What? Bucky glances at Strange, sees his own confusion mirrored there, because they’d both expected rage, anger, despair...not this calm resolution layered over tension.

This is the Steve Rogers who leaps out of quinjets without parachutes when they’d been expecting mourning and grief. The one who rescued the 107th even though he had no support, no chance of success.

“Steve…” Bucky actually takes half-a-step back under the weight of his best friend’s stare and the hot determination he sees there.

“I’m not leaving her there, Buck.” His hands clench, unclench, clench again. “Cisco was _so_ _close_ before.”

The failure of that breach - months ago - still burns. It was the only time they’d managed to open a breach in your area. Practically next to you. You’d almost had your foot through the portal when you’d been yanked away, and the breach closed.

Cisco had been devastated by each attempt since - none of them had opened anywhere near you as far as they knew.

“There’s got to be a way to use this,” Steve gestured at your image again. “To narrow the field when he’s breaching.”

Strange groaned and his cape face-palmed - or cape-palmed? - him. “Of course. All energy can be transmuted into wavelengths, which are vibrations, which are the basis-”

“Wait, what?” Bucky Barnes does not have a degree in interdimensional portals or physics or any of that shit. It’s above his pay grade and that’s fine most of the time. “Are you saying we can actually use this to track her down, open a single breach, and bring her home?”

“Like a bloodhound. Tracking a specific scent across earths. We have to get it perfect.” Strange is muttering in a way that is impossibly similar to Stark. “There’s no telling how close their Hydra is to creating a functional Bridge, and we really cannot let them get enough data to do so. This will be a nearly-impossible, one-shot kind of deal.” That last bit is directed at Steve. “One. Shot. We can’t risk anything else.”

It sinks in as Bucky looks at his best friend, sees an echo of the hope that’s beginning to flutter madly in his chest on Stevie’s face.

They’re going to bring you home.


	8. A Longest Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here you are with your New Avengers, but Rumlow's not done with you all...And Nat's been keeping secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: WHUMP (mostly emotional) ahead, readers! ALL THE WARNINGS FOR WHUMP AND CHARACTER DEATH and general not-greatness

_ It all goes sideways the minute Nat and Sam touchdown in Boston. _

_ Now...Earth 31 _

“Is that you, sunshine?” Rumlow’s voice on Nat’s comm line freezes the command center as surely as a pause button and you can see the stark shock running through your colleagues even as you fight back against the icy chill of fear trailing down your neck, raising the hairs there.

You snap your fingers at a nearby video station and hiss. “Get me picture on Nat. Now!”

“Sun...shine…” Rumlow sings. “Come on, sweetheart, I know you’re there. Talk to me baby.”

Buy time. You have to buy time to find out where Nat is, to regroup this clusterfuck of a mission that went sideways the minute the team hit the warehouse.

“I’d say it’s nice to hear from you, but we both know that’s a lie.”

His laugh is genuine. “I knew you weren’t dead, Sunshine. No way would Romanoff waste an asset like you.” He tsk tsks as the techs maneuver some of the small drones - dwarves, you call them - around the site. “And once the Avengers started predicting our moves so well? That’s when you really overplayed your hand, kitten.”

One of the drones spots Rumlow, standing on the roof and he winks up at the drone, all brash confidence as he holds Nat’s comms in one hand and a gun in the other.

"See something you like?" He asks as the drone goes closer.

“Huh. Your face looks like it’s healing.” You poke at his vanity, his ego, because it's there.

The silence that falls over the line is echoed in the command center. Mac gapes at you and mouths ‘what the fuck are you doing?’. You point at the screens, tap your wrist, and watch the lightbulb come on as you take control of the dwarf and bring it level with Rumlow, who’s laughing softly - dangerously - as his fingers move over the melted flesh on one side of his face before falling away as he shrugs.

“It is. Slowly. Even Stark’s team can only do so much against a solar burn though.” His glance into the lens of the drone is heated. “I like to think of it as a love bite. My kitten’s got teeth.”

“Oh, buddy,” You mutter. “You haven’t seen shit yet.”

He laughs again as Mac snaps to get your attention on another screen - Wilson and Nat, together, limping their way onto the jet as the remaining dwarves vacate the area. “You know I’ll find you one day.”

“‘But it is not this day’,” You quip dramatically, glancing around when no one laughs. “Seriously? No Star Wars, no Lord of the Rings...this really is just the worst Earth, isn’t it?”

“You know, if you just came home, I’d be happy to show you how wrong you are. You haven’t even begun to see the best that this world has to offer, sunshine.”

“Nah.” You shake your head. “This has been fun, but I think I’m just gonna…” Your words trail off as Rumlow’s goons join him. And they aren’t alone.

Aw, fucking hell.

You could hear a pin drop in the command center as Rumlow raises Coulson’s head. He’s been beaten something fierce, but he still manages to spit at Rumlow.

“I think this belongs to you, Sunshine.” He kicks Coulson idly, just something to do. "I took him from a nice little base in the Rockies."

Your throat is dry. Someone behind you sobs. Mac’s hand comes down on your shoulder in support.

Everyone in this room and on that roof knows how this is going to end.

“Still there, kitten?” Rumlow’s grinning now at the drone while your nails curl in enough to cut your palm as your hands clench into fists. “Hello? Is this thing on?” He turns back to Coulson. “Any last words?”

Coulson - god dammit, Coulson - looks at the drone and says in a completely deadpan voice, “Don’t let Daisy drive Lola. She’ll wreck the gears.”

The choked laugh that jumps out of your throat is enough to have Rumlow pause.

“Does this one matter to you, kitten? Do any of them?” He holsters his weapon but there’s no ripple of relief through you or the room. “Are they listening right now, your friends? Do they know why you’re in this fight? Do they know how quickly you’d abandon them if you had the chance?” He growls as you bite your lip to keep silent. “Answer me, kitten, and I won’t kill him.”

It's a lie. Of course it's a lie. Mac is shaking his head, and you know it’s the logical thing to do, but your mouth opens because it’s Coulson goddamit…

“I’m going to kill you.” You promise Rumlow, and it must sound like you mean it because Mac steps back, as does everyone else next to you. “And I’m going to make it hurt.”

Rumlow just smiles a big, happy boyish grin. “Wouldn’t be the first time you tried. Why do you think you haven’t yet, sunshine? Huh? You’ve had more chances than most.” His voice drops, intimately, as he reaches out and drags the drone close up. “You and I both know you’re powerful enough to wipe me off the face of the earth with that,” he wiggles his fingers and sings, “Voodoo that you do so well.”

The reference makes you flinch.

“Nat and Sam are in the air and in the clear,” Mac whispers as you cover your mic.

“Well, sweetheart,” Rumlow continues. “This has been fun. It’s important for soulmates to talk, clear the air in our relationship. Stay connected.”

“We don’t have a relationship you insane piece of shit.”

Rumlow grins at the camera, unholstering his gun and your stomach sinks. “Words hurt, sunshine.” He fires off a quick shot, and you know you’ll hear the sound of Coulson’s body hitting the ground in your nightmares. “We’ll talk again soon.”

The video feed goes dead, presumably as the drone is destroyed.

The command center is quiet, the haunted kind of quiet, and god, you wish you could let everyone stumble off to grieve.

One breath. That’s what you give yourself. One breath to get a grip, focus.

“Someone get me ETA on Wilson and Nat.” You snap. “I want everyone in the field to go to ground as soon as possible. Hydra knows we’ve been predicting their moves - the logical response is to use that to trap us, hunt us down.” Your fist slams into the flat surface of the console and you stare down at your split knuckle, numb. “Essential emergency rotations from here on in - we’re on high alert, and we can’t afford to run too thin. Alpha team, you’re up first. Beta team, six hour rotation.”

Mac nods, glancing around the room, and you see the movement bolster people. You’re a killer, an operative, a game-maker, but Mac? Mac’s a leader. People find comfort in his stoicism. “Let’s get moving people.”

You manage to make it through the day, all sixteen hours of it as emergency protocols are enacted across the Avengers network and the reports come in. 

Most of your people are safe. 

Not all.

Afterlife is burned to the ground -  Jiaying holding off Hydra while Daisy and Lincoln manage to get some of the Inhuman refugees out.

The Portland cell is wiped out by a short-range missile.

Twelve more operatives embedded within Hydra go dark.

It’s an ugly, horrible day, and there isn’t time to  _ feel _ it as you move resources, support your field teams, manage the transfer from Alpha to Beta to Charlie teams as the reports continue to roll in.

It’s Mac who finally tracks you down, standing outside medical, arm and head braced against the wall.

Nat’s in traction. Wilson has a ruptured kidney.

Seeing them both laid out on gurneys was the final straw - rupturing something inside of you and you were battling back the fracture as best you could, but it wasn’t enough.

Rumlow’s words about leaving were circling around your head. What did that say about your relationship with these people? Because this might not be your earth, but this  _ was _ your fight. Hydra propaganda spoke about peace, unity, stability while all the while imprisoning - or worse- anyone who was different. The hypocrisy was rich, given that Barnes and Rogers had volunteered for the super serum project on this world, then hunted down Inhumans.

You’d seen the Inhuman prison camps yourself.

Could you really leave these people, this fight?

And wasn’t that the source of the wrenching, terrible feeling inside your chest, braced against the wall trying to will yourself back into some kind of functional shape?

You weren’t so sure you’d be able to step through that breach without hesitation anymore.

“You know,” He said, sinking down on the floor next to you, patting the cold concrete and waiting til you join him. “Beating yourself up about what an asshole like Rumlow says - or does - isn’t the most productive thing you could be doing right now.”

“I know.” You will. Not. Start. Crying. “I’m going to head back to ops-”

Mac shakes his head. “Nah. I meant you need to get some sleep. Or at the very least a shower, cause you’re getting a little ripe there.”

You both snort at the attempt of humor and you see him smile when you give yourself an experimental sniff. “Okay,” You admit. “A shower would not be amiss right now.”

“You okay?” Aaand there it is. Concern, genuine, from Mac as he looks at your face closely. “Rumow’s words got to you - I know they did.”

“I just...He was right. I could wipe Hydra’s entire Atlantic command off the map.”

“Would you survive it?” He asks, because Mac has seen some of the damage you can do when your powers slip the leash in full - had seen them in the remains of the first Inhuman prison camp you’d seen, actually, when the shock and horror had blasted apart your internal shields and control.

That was the day Nat agreed you needed to stay out of the field.

“No. And it would be an indiscriminate blast zone.” Which is the reason you haven’t done it - no way to guarantee a detonation wouldn’t take out pockets of civilian parts of the coast, to say nothing of those who really didn’t understand the monstrous organization they were working for.

“So it’s not really an option.” Mac stands, takes your hand and pulls you to your feet. “No matter what buttons that asshole pushes. Shower,” He tells you, with an eyebrow lowering look that would do any parent proud. “And get at least three hours of sleep before I see you back in ops.”

“Sir, yes sir!” You snap off a half-hearted salute, smiling as he rolls his eyes.

You’re recapping for Nat the next morning - the doc says she’s stuck there for at least another couple of days - when she grimaces and says. “I need a favor.”

“Anything.” And you mean it - you haven’t been able to shake the last of your guilt over Boston. If you’d managed to kill Rumlow in the weeks you’d spent trapped with him…

“I have a contact who’s off the books. I need you to get him out, do his debrief.”

You nod. “Of course. We’re trying to bring everyone in.”

She shakes her head. “No. This one...he can’t come here. Not now. I have a safe house - remote - he’ll be there by now. He knew it was the plan if we were ever exposed like this. He’ll be there. I just can’t...I can’t ask anyone else to get him. But he’s valuable. Too valuable. I need you to read him in, personally.” 

There’s something in the way her eyes are shifting away from you that you don’t like. “Who is this, Nat?”

“His codename is Starbuck. From some stupid sci fi show in the seventies.”

You smile. “Well at least you have Battlestar Galactica. A bit of a maverick, yeah?”

She chuffs softly, winces, and pushes the pain med dispenser. “Yeah. Definitely.” Even as her eyes start to cloud over, she’s looking back at you. “But he’s saved a lot of lives, y/n. A lot.”

Four hours later the quinjet is stealthily hidden under tree cover and camouflage tech, engines cooled, and you’ve managed to slog your way through the snow to the mountain cabin Nat had given you the coordinates for.

“He won’t be inside. He’ll be waiting nearby.” Nat had told you as she gave you instructions for how to signal you were a friendly. “Put the red coffee mug on the porch and take the hatchet inside.”

It wasn’t the weirdest thing you’d been asked to do but it was up there, you thought as your numb hands nearly fumbled the mug, saving it from spilling over the railing by a microsecond before grabbing the short-handled hatchet and trying the door to the cabin.

Unlocked. As advertised.

And warm, you realized, stepping inside and shutting the door behind you.

Nothing for it now but to get comfy and wait for Starbuck to show.

It was a couple hours later when the door opened, Starbuck setting the high-end sniper rifle next to the door, hands up in a classic ‘don’t shoot’ gesture as you drew your gun on him.

“Hey, y/n.” James Barnes said. “Mind pointing that somewhere else?”


	9. We Go Forward, We Go Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened when Cisco managed to breach near you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Hi all! Finally, an update! Would love feedback on this chapter, thoughts on where you think it's going, etc. As always, thanks for reading.
> 
> Apologies to the reader

_ Several Months Ago...Earth 31 _

_ F.R.I.D.A.Y.’S voice chirped, pulling you from your thoughts and back to the moment. “Y/n, the Quinjet is estimated to arrive in two hours. Mr. Rumlow requests you dress for dinner.” _

_ Two months of this, you thought, uncrossing your legs and stretching from the window seat you’d spaced out in. Two months a prisoner in your own personal suite in Stark Tower. _

_ It was a lovely cage - great view of the skyline, top of the line amenities, and F.R.I.D.A.Y. there to fulfill every whim except to let you leave. But a nice cage was still a cage. _

_ You’d spent the first week fighting. Trying to work a way out, out. Attempting to ambush any visitors. You’d hospitalized a dozen of them before Rumlow stopped trying to socialize you with people from this earth. _

_ Now your only visitors were Rumlow, Rogers, and Barnes. Sometimes Stark would stop by and take a blood sample and try to get you to talk about the breaches. _

_ Of the three, you were on best terms with Barnes. He didn’t try to pretend you were here willingly or happily, and he didn’t sugarcoat very much at all. But he had shown you how to access the training floor, would stop by periodically to check on you, bring books and movies from this earth. If you asked him a question about this world that wasn’t tactically related, he’d at least answer you. _

_ He was clearly playing the friendship angle in an attempt to gain your trust - you’d made it clear, abundantly, that you weren’t going to soften towards Rumlow any time soon and that you weren’t going to cooperate with Stark’s questions about your world’s defenses. _

_ Looking at this world’s Steve hurt too much, and you inevitably ended up retreating to your bedroom any time he hung around. _

_ And Rumlow?  _

_ He’d spend time in the apartment, seemingly unbothered by your suspicion and distance so long as you complied with his - mostly harmless - requests and tolerated his company.  _

_ Not like you had a choice on that one - You were good at fighting, but you had to admit that Brock Rumlow was half a step ahead of you every damn time, with that insufferable smirk on his face as he efficiently countered every attack. _

_ You knew, as you made your way to your bedroom, that if you didn’t dress for dinner he wasn’t beyond cutting off the food supply for a few days to make his point - he had done it when you’d first refused to play along. He had all the power here. Starving yourself would only hurt you in the balance of things, and you needed to be able to move if, no,  _ when  _ an opportunity presented itself. _

_ You chose a dress - one of many - hanging in the closet. Barnes had told you that the order had been placed by F.R.I.D.A.Y. but you knew she had taken Rumlow’s preferences into account when ordering your new wardrobe and it without fail managed to make your skin crawl every time you looked at anything other than jeans and a t-shirt or sweater. _

_ You try to pretend that you’re getting ready for a date with Steve - your Steve - but there was no pretending when you wiped the foggy mirror clean after your shower and saw the way the last few weeks had worn on you.  _

_ You looked away from your reflection and moved on. _

_ Dressed, with hair and makeup, you asked F.R.I.D.A.Y. for a revised ETA.  _

_ “Thirty minutes, y/n.” _

_ You wander out onto the balcony - the only part of the external world you can access - and lean against the railing, noting again the changes in the skyline.  _

_ It was still beautiful, if decidedly alien, to see different buildings, different styles in place of your New York, to watch the evening lights of the city come on as the sun started to set. _

_ At least the noise was the same - drifting up from the street, a cacophony of background noises woven together until you couldn’t really distinguish them until you went inside and noise dropped away. _

_ If you hadn’t been leaning against the railing, you would have missed it. _

_ Sparks, rippling and blue against the air, two feet out from the balcony, on the other side of the stone railing. _

_ Your breath froze in your lungs. _

_ The rip in reality grew from sparks to a puddle to a pool, started to stabilize in the center. Figures moved, distantly, then into sharper focus. _

_ “Y/n!” Steve - your Steve - was there, staring up at you in shock. _

_ The portal had opened in open air over the edge of the balcony on this earth, and what looked like ten or so feet off the ground in your world. _

_ You inhaled so suddenly it hurt. “Steve!” _

_ “Come on, baby.” He held out his arms - a nonverbal promise to catch you. _

_ Oh god. You were going  _ home _. _

_ “Hurry up, guys.” Cisco calls as the edges start to waver. _

_ You clambered up onto the edge of the railing, took the first step- _

_ And were yanked back onto the balcony with enough force to have you rolling across its floor as your Steve shouted. And then there was only the smell of burning ozone and the small pop indicating the closing of a breach as you pushed yourself up onto your forearms. _

_ Barnes was staring at you in slight shock as Rumlow thundered out onto the balcony. _

_ So. Close. _

_ You had been so  _ damn close _. _

_ That, more than the pain of impact, had your eyes watering as Rumlow grabbed you and squeezed you against his chest. It took you a minute to catch it, but you realized he was trembling - the tremor running through him as he just stood there, holding you. _

_ “There was a portal,” Barnes said and Rumlow released you finally. “She was about to step through it.” _

_ There aren’t words for the frustration and anger running through you right now, a hot swirling miasma of rage with no outlet as Rumlow takes you in from head to toe. “You can’t keep me here.” _

_ “Watch me.” He snarls, not looking entirely human. _

_ “This isn’t my earth.” Your hands clench in time with your jaw. “You aren’t my soulmate - he’s on my eart-” _

_ “And if he ever comes here, I’ll kill him.” He promises it so matter of factly you know he means it. Super serum or not, Rumlow will find a way to kill anyone who tries to take you from him. It takes as much thought for him as blinking - he simply  _ will _. _

_ “Why are you doing this?” You don’t mean to ask it, but looking at Rumlow’s face, you can’t help it - Brock Rumlow is a ruthless sonovabitch who cares for nothing and no one. Or nearly no one, you correct, as Rogers joins the three of you on the balcony. “What do you want from me?” _

_ He steps in close, hand tightening on your wrist as you move to step back, and strokes the side of your face, and all that terrible, chilling anger is wiped away as if it had never existed and you are more afraid now than when he was promising to kill your Steve. _

_ Brock Rumlow is looking at you like you’re something precious and it makes you want to scrub your own skin off. _

_ “You’re mine.” He says, softly, intimately now. “I don’t share what’s mine.” _

_ “You won’t keep me here.” You regret the words as soon as they slip out. _

_ His eyes flash, this time not with anger but with  _ heat _ at the challenge in your voice. “Is that so? You have no resources on this earth, and you know I’ll never stop hunting you. Rogers would say you’re a security risk and need to be kept on lockdown. Stark wants to figure out how you - and your friend’s breaches - work. If you think either one of them is going to make it easy for you to just walk right out of here…” _

_ Tight bands are closing around your lungs because he’s not wrong. _

_ It’s too much. _

_ All of it - the last few months on the run, the shock of this doppelgangland, Rumlow...all of it comes crashing onto you in one giant wave, obliterating the stubborn hope that’s kept you going so far. Too much, you think, noticing that your breaths are coming in short, panicked gulps. Too much, too much, too much… _

_ “Breathe with me, baby.” Rumlow pulls you back in, arms wrapping around you. “Breathe with me.” He inhales smooth, holds it, exhales slow. “You’ve had a helluva time. Anybody would be struggling…” _

_ You hate it. You hate that you use the rise and fall of his chest to help you slow your breathing, hate that the whole time he’s murmuring soft words, comfort words while his hands cradle you against him. Hate it that it works. _

_ After a few minutes of steadied breathing, Rumlow releases you with great reluctance, tilting your chin up and looking at your eyes. Whatever he’s looking for, he must find it, because he steps back and starts giving orders. _

_ “Take her inside. Keep her in her room.” Rumlow was already calling for Stark via F.R.I.D.A.Y. _

_ Almost apologetically, Barnes takes you by the elbow and escorts you inside. _

_ “You couldn’t just let me leave.” You hiss, spinning as he stood in the doorway. “Two more seconds…” _

_ You must be imagining things because you could swear you saw a flash of remorse in those eyes while his fists clenched.  _

_ “I couldn’t see the portal.” He admits through gritted teeth. “I just saw you, standing on the balcony, about to step out into space.” _

That _ stopped you cold. “You thought I was going to take a swan dive? _ ”

_ Barnes’ face went inscrutable - a look you knew from your world as the Winter Soldier’s face. _

_ And then he shut the door to your bedroom and left you to grieve your lost chance. _

_ “Here, Brock.” Rogers holds the glass out to him, pulling his gaze away from the balcony. _

_ “Thanks. I thought…” Rumlow took the whiskey glass Rogers handed him, watched as his hand shook. “Jesus, I thought she was about to…” He blew out a slow breath, drank the whiskey in one quick gulp of burning fire and glanced at Barnes as he stalked back into the main room. “Thank you.” _

_ If Barnes hadn’t been there...had been two seconds slower...He didn’t like the way his stomach twisted at the thought of it, so he pushed it away as Barnes nodded. “F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s keeping an eye on her.” _

_ “Helluva scare.” Rogers says, and Rumlow knows it’s a prompt from one of the few people he can trust to open up. _

_ “I thought...when I walked in the door and saw her on the ledge…” He can still see it, clear as if it were playing out again. “My heart just about stopped. I swear,” He had to set the glass down. “I thought…” _

_ “You thought she was going to jump.” Rogers is there, the way he always is. Understanding without words and another pour of whiskey. _

_ “Yeah. I mean, we know their breacher is trying to get to her, but...what does it say about this whole situation that it didn’t even cross my mind?” He’d been stunned stupid at the sight of you on that stone ledge. After weeks of your stubborn refusal to so much as look at him without a threat being held over you, he’d come to look forward to your seemingly endless indomitable will to live. _

_ He’d finally found someone to match him, and then he’d stepped off the elevator into the suite and seen you and he would swear he felt the space between heartbeats as the wind pulled at the edges of your dress and Barnes went into motion. _

_ “You haven’t exactly been doing your best to win her over, Brock.” There’s a slight smirk on Rogers’ face as he points out the extremely obvious with another generous pour. _

_ “Fuck you, Rogers.” He knows Rogers is right - but shit, between all the things drawing his attention right now, it’s been enough just to be around you, just to soak up your sarcastic quips and defiant looks and your impressive array of fighting techniques when you tried to ambush him and make a break for it. _

_ “I’m not your type.” Rogers puts the whiskey away and braces his arms against the counter, reading him. “But seriously. If you mean to actually keep your soulmate and not have her shank you in your sleep...you actually have to spend time with her. Win her over. Show her that there are good things about this earth, about you, about Hydra.” _

_ “She’ll never stop trying to go home.” He knows it, bone deep as he watches the amber liquid in the glass swirl before downing it. The same way he could read your training, your dangerousness - it’s stamped across your psyche. “Her views about Hydra are set in stone.” _

_ “Everyone has a leverage point.” Rogers’ shoulders shrug in the way that means the conversation is over, but not finished, as Stark joins them. “You just have to find hers.” _

Now...Earth 31

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” You’re hallucinating. Or something. That’s the only possible answer.  James Buchannon Barnes cannot be Nat’s contact.

It doesn’t make  _ any _ sense.

It makes  _ all _ the sense, except...your brain feels like it’s going to explode as you work through the double and triple crosses that had to have taken place. “This is some Nick Fury level bullshit.” 

“Who?”

You shake your head because on this earth, Nick Fury is a kindergarten teacher, a civilian, an everyday Joe. With both eyes. And like, four cats. “Nevermind. Just…”

“Can I put my hands down now?” When you nod, he lowers his arms slowly, steps further into the room.

“You...you’re Nat’s contact? What...the fuck?” At some point soon, your brain will actually process this. Will actually catch on the gears of your mind and start to turn again. In the meantime, you settle for staring stupidly.

“I’m guessing she sent you here to debrief me.” When you nod again, finally lowering the gun, he toes off his boots and takes a seat in the chair across from you. “I guess it makes sense. You’re the only other one likely to know anything about the inner workings of Hydra without me having to spend three days bringing you up to speed on the basics. Did Rumlow ever tell you about a device called The Chair?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: I honestly debated just cutting out the bit from Rumlow but decided last minute to keep it in.


	10. Fox in the House

The story of how the Winter Wolf turned Avengers Informant takes the rest of the day, and only because you refuse to let go of it. You sit through it, with only a handful of questions here and there as you hear about how he and Steve grew up together, and volunteered for the serum together. You have to bite your lip a couple of times because you swear to god you’ve heard this story so many times…

“Til the end of the line.” Barnes huffs out a bitter sound that only resembles a laugh. “It was this thing we used to say, when we first started. A stupid promise between two kids in the middle of a war we couldn’t possibly hope to keep. And then we did - again and again and again. Against odds that shouldn’t have been possible.” He shakes his head. “I always thought that meant til we were dead. Turns out the end of the line is the line you’re willing to draw around what you can live with, and what you can’t.”

This earth - without Star Wars or Tolkien or a goddamn Ghirardelli - has done the impossible. 

It's broken the bond between Rogers and Barnes.

The not-so-long of it is that Barnes doesn’t sleep just fine at night, watching what Hydra does to its enemies. He sleeps a little better doing what he can to tear it down from the inside.

“It’ll never be enough.” He says, crouching next to the fireplace having lit it once the sun started going down. “I know that. It won’t ever be enough til Rumlow and Hydra are gone. I’m not kidding myself about what I did before I went to Romanoff.”

“Does...does he know now?” You ask as he turns and warms his hands.

You both know you mean Rogers. Is his best friend aware that he’s turned his back on everything they’ve spent a lifetime building?

“Yes.” It’s a clipped, single word answer as he strides back to the chair and takes a seat.

You let it go.

“Tell me about the Chair.”

He takes the change in topic with a grateful look. 

And then he tells you about a facility and a project and machine that can wipe memories out of a person’s mind. It’s horrifying, and horrifyingly familiar, as he describes the facility’s purpose: to create killers who don’t question, sleeper agents who don’t know they’re sleepers until they’re activated, and to  _ persuade _ anyone who visibly opposes Hydra to change their stance.

It’s enough for the first day.

You know it, looking at him - Barnes is exhausted, emotionally and mentally and it’s bleeding into his body as he waits for you to react.

“If you were really working for Nat this whole time,” You finally ask, because you do have to know this one thing before you try to sleep tonight. “Why did you stop me from going home? On the balcony?”

“I really didn’t see the portal that day.” He doesn’t look away from you as he admits the rest of it, and you like him more for it. “But even if I had, there’s no way I could have kept my cover if I hadn’t stopped you. You were too close to Rumlow - too closely watched. I couldn’t risk it.”

It takes a minute, but you nod. You get it. How could you not? Doesn’t mean you won’t have to deal with your feelings of resentment, or anger, over it. But that’s not necessarily Barnes’ fault, and it’s certainly not his problem.

“I’m going to grab a shower. You can take the bed, I’ll take the couch.” He pushes to his feet and leaves you in the living room to wrestle with your feelings.

This is the hard part of being in the line of work you’re in - it always was, even on your earth - when you have to reconcile the individual impact against the greater good. You’d have done the same in Barnes’ shoes, or tried to. 

You understand it, understand the kind of cold calculation that happens for undercover operatives. This world’s Romanoff and yours taught you that well, and experience drummed it into you while working with this Avengers resistance.

It doesn’t quite stop the small voice inside of you that wants nothing more than to be home from crying out at the unfairness of it all.

So you sit with that feeling for a few minutes, let it be. Acknowledge it.

And then you put it away in favor of crawling into bed while the shower squeaks to life.

The next morning Nat calls you early - before the sun has even reached the horizon, pulling you out of a lovely fantasy involving second breakfast and lazy saturday lie ins.

“The fox is in the henhouse.”

Your blood runs cold at the phrase. “Are you okay?”

It’s code - not subtle - but you know that the base has been compromised. Severely. Hydra is hunting, and they’re not holding back now.

Rumlow knows you’re alive for certain now and he’s done being patient.

“I got out. Mac. Barton. Wilson’s MIA, but he was with Daisy last I heard.” You can hear the fatigue in her voice as she sighs. “We’re all going to ground.”

“Full dark?”

“For now. I need you to finish debriefing Barnes. What he knows...y/n, it’s too valuable.”

“Nat…”

“Needs must, y/n. I have to go. Stay safe.”

Barnes is watching you from the couch and you realize with his enhanced hearing, he’s likely heard the entirety of the call. His face is a carefully blank mask. “Full dark?”

“No contact. Go as off-grid as you can.”

“Hydra’s hunting.” It’s not a question but he looks at you for confirmation as you toss the covers back and slip your feet right into your shoes to avoid the cold floor.

You nod, knowing you won’t be able to go back to sleep. “How well supplied is this place?”

The grin he shoots you now is boyish. “Extremely.”


	11. Snowstorms & Names

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Thanks for commenting, reading, and kudos-ing as always! It's taking me a lot longer than anticipated to move this story along, but this chapter kinda just spilled out with the coffee this morning

Going dark is incredibly boring.

You and Barnes split shifts to patrol the area, and other than the overlap where you’re both in the cabin, there isn’t much to do but debrief and find ways to pass the time.

Working out and sparring can only kill so many hours, as it turns out, though you do learn a couple neat new tricks with a knife from Barnes and he learns not to underestimate how good you are at takedowns, even with the mass and strength differential.

“Shouldn’t be physically possible.” He mutters for the better part of the day the first time you manage to trip him up. “Freaks of nature. You and Romanoff.”

You spend a fair amount of time drawing up plans - possible plans - based on the intel Barnes gives you, and trying not to agonize over the fate of your friends.

You’re two weeks in when a freak snowstorm hits, confining you both to the cabin for the duration. Barnes barely made it back from patrol by the time it hit, and for the first night, you don’t think either of you slept, listening to the storm rage outside.

Less than forty-eight hours later and you’re ready to strangle James Buchannon Barnes with your bare hands as you wrap yourself in a towel and stalk from the bathroom. “Do you have to be a hot water hog on  _ every _ earth in the multiverse? Jesus, Barnes, I know you love your hair, but how long can it possibly take to condition at this length?”

He shrugs from the stovetop where he’s heating soup, completely nonplussed by the fact that the last of the warm water stopped three minutes into your shower and you see red.

You would shoulder him into highway traffic for ten bucks, right now. If you opened the door into that whirling vortex of snow and shoved him through would it be similar?

Hell, you would do it for free, maybe, and you’re fairly certain your face shows it as you stomp back to the bathroom and dress in the spare sweats and t-shirt that have become your go-to pajamas.

When you come back out, combing through your hair to keep it from tangling, there’s a peace offering of warm soup and a hearty slice of bread and a steaming mug of tea across from Barnes at the table.

As you sink down opposite him, he stands, goes back to the kitchen cabinets and pulls down two bottles from the top shelf and two tumblers.

At your raised eyebrow, he sets one glass in front of you and pours two very generous fingers of whiskey into the glass. “If I hear you call me ‘Barnes’ one more time, I’m going to strangle you.”

He sets the other glass in front of his own setting, opens the second bottle - which you now see is marked by Stark’s barely legible scrawl as ‘Super Booze’ - and pours a full glass for himself before sitting back down. “So we are going to sit here and drink and get to know each other so you will finally stop calling me ‘Barnes’ like I’m something you found on the bottom of your shoe.”

“Tell me…” Barnes shakes his head as you pass him the bottle of the Super Booze a couple hours later. “Tell me what it’s like? On your earth? What’s it like to live in a world without...without Hydra?”

After the first awkward couple of glasses you’d both somehow migrated to the living room, and now you’re both curled up with blankets and couch cushions next to the fireplace because...well, you’re not entirely sure why, but it’s comfy and cozy and you might be drunk, you realize.

You’ve talked through the basics already - does pineapple belong on pizza? What is your favorite vacation place? If you had a million dollars, what would you spend it on? What would your patronus look like?

You’d moved into murkier waters now - best and worst childhood memory, favorite teammate and why, have you ever been in love before - and now, now Barnes has broached the topic of your home-world.

“Well,” You fold your legs up under you and scoot just a little closer to the fire, letting the heat soak into your bones. “It’s got its own problems. But...most people try to do what they can to make their little slice a little better.”

“You miss it.” The look he gives you sees right through you. “But you don’t think you’ll get back there.”

“I told them to stop looking for me. To stop breaching.” Yes, you are definitely drunk because the pain cuts through you like a dull, serrated knife. “I can’t let them come here if it means Hydra figures out the Bridge.”

“Not even to get back to your soulmate?”

“Do you have a soulmate?” You ask, turning the topic back on him.

“No. Never really bugged me. I never really knew anyone til…”

“Rumlow.”

“Yeah.” There’s a moment of silence as you both drink. “Can I ask…” He winces “Nevermind.”

“You want to know what it’s like with my other soulmate.”

He nods and you spend a long moment looking for the words.

“I actually knew him for a couple years before we found out we were soulmates. I liked him. Understood him. Enjoyed his company, made fun of his taste in movies...And clothes. And humor.” It makes you smile, just thinking of the early days on the team, all those hours of missions and pranks and training. “I got...I got really really lucky. We already knew so much about each other, worked together. We fell into lockstep so easily…”

“He’s an Avenger? On your earth?”

You nod, swallow thickly. “Yeah. Him, Romanoff, Wilson, you…” You laugh at his face. “Yep. Thor. Is there a Thor here?”

“What’s a Thor?”

Well, that answers that question and you break into laughter trying to describe Asgardians and Thor. You laugh again at the sour-lemon look on his face, so genuinely pained when you tell him your earth's Bucky and Sam are thick as thieves, helpless giggles falling from you as you collapse onto the cushions.

“One,” Barnes holds up a finger, blinks at it bleary-eyed for a moment, then back at you as he refocuses. “Wilson? Really? He’s just...such a dick.”

You can’t stop laughing, remembering how their first interactions went on your earth. When you do manage to stop, he’s smiling at you, but continues on.

“Two, I really,” His tone becomes solemn, but there’s laughter dancing in his eyes. “ _ Really _ hate that nickname.” He keeps going as you laugh again. “No, seriously. Rogers dinged me with it when we were kids, and I just...Oh, god, I hate it _so much_. And you know what the worst part is?” His tone is sliding from solemn to indignant as he props himself up next to you.

You shake your head. 

“He gave the nickname a nickname.” The aggrieved expression on his face is genuine. “Somehow, that little shit got ‘Bucky’ from ‘Buchannon’ and then went, ‘hey, you know what this nickname needs? A nickname. Let’s use ‘Buck’.” As he took in your laughter - again - he shook his head. “Not a sympathetic bone in your body, you know that?”

“Poor baby.” You tease, rolling onto your back and staring up at the ceiling. 

“My Ma used to call me Jim.” It’s a soft confession, so quiet you could have missed it. “My sisters used to call me Jamie. Back in Brooklyn, before all this.”

“You don’t strike me as a ‘Jim’,” Your nose wrinkles as you try it out. “Jamie...Jamie I could see, especially from sisters. Probably after you did something to piss them off.”

Now he’s the one who laughs. “Guilty.”

“You don’t like Barnes, or Bucky, or Buck.” You pop the last syllable as your eyes start to close. “So what do you want to be called now that you aren’t working for Hydra? Now that you get a chance to reinvent yourself here at the end of the world in the middle of a snowstorm, who do you want to be?”

“James,” You hear him say as sleep drags you under as you soak in the warmth of the fire. “I think I’d like to try being James again, y/n."


	12. A Bloom In Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nat resurfaces, and things are blooming in the spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: okay, last update for the week - i'm gonna get steamrolled by some real life things most likely but the chapters after this are plotted and awaiting sufficient time and caffeine AND WOOOO BOY I CAN'T WAIT.

It’s nearly spring before Nat walks out of the woods surrounding the cabin, casual as can be because she’s Romanoff and that’s kind of her thing.

“Where’s Barnes?” She asks as you bring two mugs of tea out onto the front porch. 

“Out patrolling. He’ll be pissed you got past the perimeter.” You sink down onto the step and hand her the other mug as she joins you. “Glad you’re alive.”

“Right back atcha, y/n.” She wraps her hands around the mug as she gives you a once over. “You don’t seem too worse for wear having spent a whole winter on a mountain with Barnes.”

“He snores, takes up more than his half of the bed, and he literally cannot cook worth a damn.” You shrug. Your smile is genuine. “All in all, I’ve had worse partners to hunker down with.”

“Sorry for dumping all-” She gestures broadly and you know she means the revelation about James being a double agent “-that on you.”

You shrug again. “Needs must. Anything I need to know that can’t wait til he comes back?” You elaborate at her questioning eyebrow with an eye roll “I’ll just have to recap it for him, and he’ll be pissy and snippy about it if he hears it second hand. Snippy James is not my favorite.”

“I heard that.” James’ silent approach makes Nat jump a little as he appears - like fucking magic - beside the porch. “And I do not get  _ snippy _ .”

You snort. “Yeah? What would you call it, James?”

“I just react poorly to concealed information.”

Nat’s snort joins yours this time as he leans casually against the porch railing.

For a minute the three of you just sit there in the evening light.

It’s almost...peaceful.

But all good things must end, and James is the one who makes the first move. “So,” He nudges Nat gently with one booted foot. “Going to tell us what’s happening out there? Drag us back to the good fight?”

And so she does.

“This is still a terrible idea.”

You cast a grin over your shoulder towards the vantage point he’s set up his sniper nest - and yes, you’re aware that’s not what it’s called - and put a little extra pep in your voice. “You’re still just grumpy that I came up with a plan before you did.”

The low growl James emits makes your smile grow wider. “You talk this much on your other missions?”

“You’re the one bitching, James.” You point out. “Besides, I thought we agreed that this idea - however terrible - is necessary.”

“I still don’t like it.”

He’s not alone in that. But...the Chair has to be taken out of commission. It was an obvious high-priority target from his debrief, and the surviving Avengers command agreed.

Which is why you and James are here - stealth insertion, followed by intel gathering, with a dash of mass destruction on your way out the door. After nearly a whole season in the cabin, the quiet, the peace...you’d be lying if you tried to pretend you hadn’t missed the rush of an op, feeling long dormant neurons firing back up, a muscle memory of the mind.

“Too bad.” You drop your voice to a near subvocal level as you make your way through the base, heading towards the main building where the Chair is housed. “Time to make the chimichangas.”

“What does that even mean?” The aggravation in James’ voice makes you grin. He's so much fun to needle. “Is this another one of your weird-earth references?”

“What kind of a heathen are you?” You hiss, pausing to observe your best entry angles “You don’t even know what mexican food is? We are seriously going to have to expand your palate, James.”

“Jesus Christ, will you just shut up and  _ focus _ .” He hisses right back.

Twenty minutes later, you’re both standing in the lab next to the device that - fittingly enough - is identical to the Chair on your earth, with cowering techs in the corner and James scowling at you. 

It’s an impressive scowl. You almost want to give him a cookie, or a gold star, or something. Not that it isn’t terrifying - see exhibit A of frightened techs - but it’s just hard to be intimidated by someone you know talks in his sleep.

“This is not what we agreed on.” If he were any more unhappy with you, he would literally stomp his foot, you think, and you have to bite back an inappropriate grin because another thing every Barnes apparently has in common? Drama. Queens. “We said we had to destroy it and the facility.”

“And we will,” You nod as you help the lead tech to his feet. “After we wipe my knowledge of the breaches and the Bridge tech I stole from the last facility before I destroyed it.”

The techs are nervous as they prep you, and the machine. Toss up if it’s because of you or James, whose scowl would put Nick Fury to shame as they strap you into the chair.

“Stop scaring them.” You order “If you don’t stop looking like you’re going to eviscerate them, they’ll mess this up and my brains will be scrambled eggs.”

“Don’t joke.”

“Have you met me?”

“Unfortunately.” James’ glower moves off of you and back to the techs. “If you mess up her mind, I will kill you all. Very slowly. Very. Slowly.”

One of the techs trembles so hard he drops his tablet.

“Thanks. That’s exactly what I was saying not to do.”

“You sure about this?”

You blow out a tense breath. “No. But just in case…Better to make sure Stark and Rumlow actually can’t use what I know against us.”

“It’s still a shit plan.”

“James?”

“Y/n?”

“Shut up and let them work already.”

And then the techs finish strapping you in, and you can’t talk because there’s a rubber mouth guard to keep you from cracking your teeth. There’s only enough slack for you to give James what you hope is a reassuring nod.

Lightning dances behind your eyes and every muscle in your body clenches as electricity pours through your body. It stretches on for what feels like an eternity until it finally, finally stops.

“Y/n?” James’ face swims into focus in front of you, worry written all over him. “Y/n? Do you know who I am? Where we are?”

The techs are unconscious heaps on the floor. 

“What happened?” You ask as he fumbles the restraints off of you. “Dammit, James…”

“It’s gonna be okay, y/n. But we have to move, we have to move  _ now _ .”

You let him help you to your feet, half-carrying you to the extraction point, and then actually carrying you for the last quarter mile of the trek, trying not to notice how safe you feel when he keeps one hand wrapped around your own as you watch the explosion of the facility from the cockpit of the quinjet.


	13. A Chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: I can't stay away from A03 you guys. I think I have a problem...
> 
> Unbeta-ed, written on my lunch break and typed up over dinner
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, commenting & kudos-ing! You all are 😘

Nat wasn’t pleased with you either when you got back to base, but she gave you a brief nod of understanding before moving on.

She was waiting for you when you stepped out of the shower in your room, perched on your bed, less like a spider and more like a cat. “So. You erased the knowledge of the Bridge and the breaches.”

You nodded, toweling your damp hair. 

“And how do we feel about that?”

“We? The royal we?” Your smile didn’t quite reach your lips as you sank down on the mattress beside her. “It had to be done, Nat.”

“You know you’ve just decreased the odds of ever finding your way home.”

“And of Hydra finding their way there too.” You pointed out as she laid out beside you, gaze concerned. “I’m not...I’m not happy about it, Nat. But I made the call, and I was the one in the right spot to make it.”

“I know. I would have done the same thing in your shoes.” She shrugged at your surprise, red waves falling over one shoulder. “You might’ve started out as an outworlder, y/n, but you’re...you’re one of us now. You know that right? That this is just as much your home as it is ours?”

There’s a twisting knot in your chest and you have to swallow a couple of times before you can respond. “Thanks, Nat.”

She grinned, mood changing like lightning. “So, you gonna tell me why Barnes was making gooey eyes at you when you got back?”

“Gooey eyes?” You laughed. “No, Nat. I think he was just relieved my brain didn’t get totally scrambled. He scared the techs so badly…” You narrowed your eyes as the Black Widow giggled helplessly. “Romanoff...what are you…”

“I can’t help it. You’re so clueless sometimes, y/n.” She wiped actual tears from her eyes and sat back up. “Barnes was all about you  _ before _ he had to break cover. Then you spent a whole winter in a cabin together, with only one bed-”

“Well that couch was a freaking crime against humanity and the human spine.” You muttered.

“-and getting to know each other. Now you call him James, and the two of you have been practically attached at the hip since you got here.” She shook her head. “You do know denial is not just a river in Egypt, right?”

“It’s not like that, Nat.” You swore. “It’s not. He’s...he’s a friend. And I have a soulmate.”

Nat’s face said she didn’t believe you so you hit her with the pillow.

“So…” She asked when she stopped laughing again. “Absolutely  _ nothing _ happened on the mission today? Nothing at all that your besotted friend could have interpreted in a way that would lead to him giving you heart eyes?”

You thought of James practically carrying you out of the base, of his hand around yours. Oh no. Oh no, oh no. The blood drained from your face.

“Nat, I didn’t - I swear, I didn’t -”

“Hey,” Her hands came around your shoulders, face concerned as you gasped. “Hey, hey. Slow breaths, y/n, slow breaths. That’s it.” She cooed as you pushed air out slowly, inhaled and did it again. “I was just teasing you, y/n.”

“I just...I really don’t...didn’t...I have a soulmate." You heart hurt just thinking about Steve. "I love him.” The words came in short spurts. “James is just...just James. Just a friend, Nat.”

Wasn’t he?

The remembered feeling of James’ hand in your own and Nat’s words haunted you for days, despite her reassurances that she’d been poking fun.

You knew you were overreacting. Knew the gesture had been intended for comfort, a kind of ‘I am here’ anchor. But every time you remembered the feeling of his skin against your own, guilt ate away at you. Because as much as your logical brain knew the odds of ever going home, that moment of connection, the weight of his eyes on your face...all of it felt too close to a betrayal.

So, being a mature and responsible adult, you did the only reasonable thing to do.

You avoided him.

The new headquarters of the Avengers was a base hidden under a lighthouse. It was a plenty big place, with lots of rooms you could duck into under the pretext of ‘exploring’. Any time you were in the more occupied parts of the base, you made sure you were never alone with him, and ruthlessly put as many bodies as possible between the two of you whenever possible.

Barton, of all people, was the one who finally called you on it.

Of course, he waited til the two of you were mid-spar to bring it up.

Sneaky bastard.

“You ever gonna tell Barnes what he did to make you dodge him?” He asked, slapping aside your strike. “The kicked-puppy-dog eyes are getting a little old, y/n.”

“You know. I know Nat told you.” You stepped back in time to avoid the leg sweep, eyes narrowed accusingly.

He grinned, mouth curving upwards without a hint of warmth. “You mean that you’re beating yourself up over something that happened between the two of you? Something that’s drowning you in guilt? Like something your soulmate might not like? Nat doesn't have to tell me everything, you know. I have eyes.”

You slipped and Barton threw you over his hip and into the mat.

“You wanna know the big secret about soulmates?” He asked, looking down at you.

“Does it matter if I don’t?”

He continued as if you hadn’t spoken. “Soulmates don’t always work out. They’re not some...predestined cosmic pairing like we're told. If they were,” He helped you to your feet. “You’d be with Rumlow right now." He laughed at your face. "All a soulmate is is a chance. A chance and a choice. A person you can live with, who can know you inside out, through the best and the worst moments of your life. It’s not always romantic. It’s not some unbreakable bond you have to martyr yourself for.”

“Yeah? How do you know?”

“Nat ever show you hers?” At your wide eyes, he grinned. “Thought not. It looks like this.” He pulled the collar on his shirt down to expose a strip of red watercolor with black stars in a familiar constellation. Barton let you look for a good minute before he released the shirt collar and continued again. “She’s my best friend, my partner. But she’s not the love of my life, or the mother of my kids, or the person I miss most in the world. She knows parts of me that Lara will never see. And that’s okay.” He was watching you closely, carefully, as if checking for understanding. “You have a choice, and you have a chance, y/n.”

And then the sneaky bastard left you in the gym with only his words and your thoughts to chase you as you slogged through the rest of your workout.

James was waiting for you outside your room when you hoofed it back, half-fantasizing about a shower and some quality time with a paperback novel Mac had lent you.

Both of you froze as you saw him.

"Y/n," He swore, ran a hand through his hair, which was getting longer now. "What did I do? How do I fix this?"


	14. The Dumbest Thing You've Ever Heard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: The fight scene of this chapter was inspired by a recent re-watch of CA:TWS and the 'on va voir' scene...because, yes, it is the dumbest thing ever...I literally cheered when watching Captain Marvel and she doesn't do that trope 🥳
> 
> Also, tomorrow is FRIDAY - more updates to come over the weekend!

_ "Y/n," He swore, ran a hand through his hair, which was getting longer now. "What did I do? How do I fix this?" _

“You didn’t…” The words nearly dried up in your throat. “You didn’t do anything, James. I...I’ve had some things going around in my head and I needed...I still need some time, some space.”

Nat was right, you realized as you watched him shutter some emotion and nod. Denial wasn’t just a river in Egypt, but you just...you weren’t ready to process it. If you did, it would mean on some level you were giving up on Steve. Walking away from your soulmate. You weren't...you weren't ready to acknowledge that loss.

Barton’s words circled in your head “ _...you’d be with Rumlow right now. _ ” and you shoved them aside.

Maybe it was as simple as Barton thought, but you still needed time to wrap your head around it all.

“Mac has another mission.” James finally said as the silence between the two of you grew and grew and strained. “Needs a sniper. Thought I’d tag along with his team.”

He was giving you time and space.

Relief flooded you as you nodded. “They’re a good team. Watch out for Hunter’s puns though. They are Dad-level bad.” And still neither of you moved, as if your feet were fixed to the floor.

“You know that I like you, right?” James looked like he wanted to pull back the words as soon as he said them, grimaced, and pushed on. “I mean...I would never...I would never pressure you, and I don’t expect anything from you except terrible life choices and overloud snoring-”

“ I'm not the one who snores like a hibernating bear. ” The automatic retort has both of you smiling, though it doesn’t reach either of your eyes.

“I just. Wanted you to know. And you can take all the time you need - I’ll still be here. As a friend.” He blew out another breath and ran his hand through his hair again. “I really suck at this kinda stuff, huh?”

“You’re not doing half as bad as me.” You tell him, feeling your lips curve upwards again. “And...for what it’s worth, James, you’re an excellent human being. There’s...there’s a lot in my head I have to sort through right now.”

Mac rounds the corner, stops as he sees the two of you, and gives you both an apologetic look. “Barnes, you in? We’re loading up.”

“Go. I’ll be here when you get back.” You promise, watching his legs eat up the distance as he finally comes closer. “James?”

“Y/n?”

“Come back in one piece, okay? We’ll...we’ll have a better talk when you get back.”

His eyes lingered on you for a long moment before he nodded. “Okay then.”

Mac’s mission had one major hiccup.

Commander Hydra, in the flesh, making an unscheduled inspection of the facility on the day Mac’s team was scheduled to hit it.

And you could do nothing but watch from the ops center several hundred miles away as the team fell back. As James provides cover. As Rogers’ voice hums over the line - “‘til the end of the line, Buck.” - and then the link goes dead. As Mac and his team report in from the quinjet in speedy retreat. 

“Y/n,” Nat says as you wait impatiently for the quinjet to refuel once Mac’s team is back. “He may not be there by the time you get there.”

“I can’t leave him there, Nat. Don’t ask me to do that.” You can't stop moving, because the minute you do, you'll have to confront the black hole in your chest that is too close to panic.

“Rogers will kill him.” Barton chimes in as he hands you a restocked medical supply bag.

You shake your head. “Not right away. Rogers' too much of a strategist - he’ll try to break him first, learn everything he can about our operations." You know you’re right about this. "He’ll make it last and he’ll make it hurt because it’s personal, but he won’t kill him right away.”

“Bring him back.” Barton tells you. “Bring yourself back too, y/n.”

Infiltration by one single operative is always easier than with a team, even with the patrols on high alert. The base isn’t big, so it doesn’t take you long to find James, though it does stop you in your tracks for a moment when you see him.

Rogers - or someone on Rogers’ orders - worked him over. Thoroughly. So thoroughly, he can’t even lift his head at the sound of your footsteps. Suspended between two pillars, arms stretched in a way that makes you wince in sympathy...there isn’t an inch of him that isn’t beaten or bloody.

“James…”

_That_ jerks his head upright as effectively as cold water - one eye swollen shut, the other blue and bloodshot. “No…” The moan is low, but miserable. “No, you can’t...you have to go…”

“Shut up.” You tell him, forcing yourself to be cold as you pull power and light and heat into your hands.

Cisco had called it some form of proto-plasma. It feels like starlight in your hands as you placed them against the restraints holding James up and melted them. You had to let him drop while your hands cooled, but the moment they did, you were there, helping him with a shoulder under his, one arm around his waist. He was already staggering to his feet, that super serum well on its way.

“It’s a trap. For you.” 

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” You huffed. “God, you’re heavy.”

He made a sound halfway between a laugh and a pained cry. “Rogers...Rogers expecting you…”

A slow clap came from the doorway, where Rogers leaned. “Way to spoil the surprise, Buck.”

James’ lip curled in the semblance of a snarl even as you shifted slightly in front of him.

Rogers chuckled and stood square in the doorway, stance casual as if this were just any friendly conversation. “You know, when Rumlow said he hoped I’d bring him ‘something special’ back for your anniversary, I really thought he’d be wrong about you showing up. Must be something to this soulmate stuff after all.”

You have never appreciated until this moment how annoying Steve's face is when smeared with that righteous smirk and tone.

“Anniversary? What the hell are you talking about?” You’d have to let go of James before you could fire up your hands, and he wasn’t quite steady enough on his feet. You had to buy a little more time...

“Near as we can tell, you came through that breach three years ago today.”

Three years.

It can’t have been.

“Aw, you forgot.” Rogers’ taunt hits home. “Brock’ll be so disappointed.”

“I don’t care.” He’s going to engage soon - the tension in his body gives him away - and you need to have your hands. You shift towards the wall with James. “How could you do this to him? He was your friend.”

The smile Rogers grants you both is nothing short of feral and something inside you snaps at the sight of it. “He threw it all away. Why? For what?”

He moves - fast - and you’re forced to let go of James and shove raw power through your hands at Rogers, tossing him back with a blast of light.

Rogers is panting and something in his knee is definitely struggling to heal as he staggers back to his feet. “Fancy powers. I thought you were more than that. Can’t take me on without them?”

You snort and blast him with a concentrated beam of light that slams him into the wall with enough force to shatter the concrete with spiderwebs. His chest is still moving, so you've only knocked him out.

James’ jaw is dropped when you turn around.

“I didn’t kill him.”

He closes his jaw with an audible click. “I thought you were gonna fight him.”

“I did.” You shrug yourself under his shoulder again and start making for the route back to the jet. “Why wouldn’t I use my powers though? Is this one of those dumb machismo things? Would you not have used powers, if you had them?” At his silence you cast him a serious side eye. “Oh my god, James - that’s...that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

James says nothing as you make your escape, just lets you continue to mutter about 'stupid super soldiers' until you're in the air. Once the autopilot is engaged, you unstrap from the cockpit and drag the medical kit closer, doing what you can.

"I wouldn't give 'im anything," He confesses after you administer a painkiller, head lolling back against the head rest of the seat. " 's why he lost his temper on me."

"Just...just relax James. Nat'll do your debrief after we get back. Sleep, James. Just sleep." Your hand brushes hair and blood and dirt off his face gently as his eyes shut, breathing steady.

You let your head drop for a moment.

He was safe, he was whole - mostly.

You'd gotten him out in time.

You hadn't realized how worried you'd been about it until now, with the aftermath of adrenaline and relief mixing like a cocktail inside you. But your hands...your hands were trembling as you put the medical kit to rights, checked the nav system again.  


Barton was right, you realized, and you couldn't ignore it anymore.  


You had a choice to make, and soon.


	15. Feelings & Stuff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Wilson have a conversation
> 
> And James ruins breakfast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Hey lovelies, as always, thanks for your patience. Hoping to get another chapter up before the week is out, pending some RL things getting done. Hope y'all are happy and safe and well!

“You going to tell me what’s chewing on you?” Wilson asked, handing you a beer as you looked out over the sunset-streaked water from the top of the lighthouse. “Or do I have to get Barton?”

James was in medical, though that super serum sure worked fast - and the minute you’d been reassured that he would be okay, you’d booked it up here. You needed the air, the space.

“Who says-” You stopped as Sam held up a hand.

“You know I worked as a counselor, right? This is also like  _ the _ place to come and think over thoughts when you want to be alone. So I know you weren’t about to feed me some bullshit line about how you’re fine and you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

You took a sip of the beer and leaned your arms back on the railing, fingers lightly clutching the neck of the bottle and tried to find the words. Somewhere out in the darkening waters of the lake, you could just barely make out the lights of a big ass boat - maybe a freighter of some kind?

You felt a little like that boat right now.

Miles off shore. Adrift. Transversing the twilight - neither fully in one world or the other.

“Rogers said something...”

“Before or after you creamed his lily-white ass?”

You shared a sharp smile with Wilson, all flashing white teeth of satisfaction. “Heard about that did ya?”

“Wish I could have seen it.” Wilson admitted, mirroring your stance now, bracing forearms on the railing and nudging you with his shoulder. “But something tells me you’re not feeling some kind of way about  _ that _ part of your little op.”

“If I think about it too much, I will.” You admitted. “It’s...It’s hard. Having alternate memories, alternate lives with people. Some of it’s so familiar it's like breathing. Instinctive understanding - no doubt at all about how someone will react, or what they’ll do. And then there’s the other stuff.” You blew out a long breath. “It’s so fundamentally different it’s like running into an invisible wall at full speed.”

“That sucks.”

“Rogers...on my earth…” You shook your head, because how do you close that gap? “He isn’t like this. Intelligent, ruthless, righteous, yes. But he hates bullies. He never...he never would have done the things Rogers has done here. He never would have turned his back on James.”

“Righteous men can be good or evil, same as the rest of us.” Wilson straightened. “You call us all by our last names, you know? Except Nat and Barnes. I figure it helps you keep it straight. ‘Sam’ is someone else for you, while ‘Wilson’ is the flawless ass-kicker you see before you tonight.”

You laughed, but nodded. He was right.

“My point is,” Wilson continued. “Is that for the last few years, you’ve been trying to keep it all straight while trying to find a way home. Here’s what I think is going on…”

“No.” You pointed a finger at him. “No psychoanalysing. Don’t.”

He ignored you, continuing calmly as you drank more of the beer. “I think something happened on that mission that made it hit home for you - that you don’t view us, this world, as temporary anymore. And you weren’t expecting it. So now you’re sitting up here trying to find a way to beat yourself up over it without feeling bad about beating yourself up about it because you’re smart enough to know that it’s only natural to form attachments with the people who are most present around you and to feel distance growing between the ones who are far away. The may-never-see-them-again kind of far away.”

You chugged the rest of the beer. “Well aren’t you a regular Dr. Phil.”

“Oh it’s like that?” At your nod, he smiled. “Well, there’s one thing I definitely left out. Barnes has feelings for you. You’ve got feelings for Barnes.”

“I used to be a covert operative.” You mused to the night air as Wilson passed you a second beer from the six pack he’d stashed by the door. Your tone turned to disgust. “I was good at it too. Now I’m apparently just...transparent.”

Wilson is chuckling as he drinks his own beer. 

“I don’t know what to do about it.” The confession is quiet, but you know he hears it. “The...feelings...and stuff. I have a soulmate.”

“Technically, you have two.” He backs off, hands up at your glare. “Just pointing out the facts.” When your glare dies, he leans back on the railing again, nudges you playfully with his shoulder. “Why aren’t you with Rumlow right now? He’s your soulmate on this earth, right?”

“He’s a megalomaniacal piece of shit on every earth.”

“Not arguing that point. But humor me.”

“I don’t want to be with him. Who he is...it’s everything I’m against.”

“So, we could logically extrapolate that you are choosing to fight fate - fight against your soulmark.” At your nod he continues. “And because Rumlow - on both worlds - is such an asshole-”

“Such.” You agree.

“Shh. The adult is speaking.” He winces under your not-so-mock punch. “Ow. Like I was saying...it’s easy for you to make that choice because Rumlow is, and always has been, a bad guy for you. But whoever your other soulmate is, he’s a good guy?” He waits for your nod. “But you also made a choice - to stop the breaches. To stop trying to go home.”

“It feels like I’m giving up on him. On us.” You look out at the water because your eyes are wet and you can’t look at Wilson right now. “It was so good, Wil- Sam. It was...I’d never had something like that before. We were family before we knew, about the marks. We were part of a family there - the kind you make - and it was so, so good. And then we found out we were soulmates and it was like that moment when a puzzle piece shifts just the tiniest bit into place the rest of the way and everything  _ fits. _ ”

“And then you wound up here.”

“Yup. And I get to see my soulmate’s face fucking everywhere.” You snort. “ ‘Commander Hydra’ - what a stupid fucking name.”

Wilson chokes on his beer. “What?!”

“I thought Nat told you.”

Wilson mutters unkind things about former-spies and keeping secrets as you both finish off your beers and go for another. The air is cold, but you’re feeling warm - equal credit to your amusement at Wilson’s reaction and the beer.

“Steve fucking Rogers.” He says ten minutes later, still half-muttering under his breath. “No wonder you’re having a helluva time.”

“So what do I do?” This time you’re the one nudging him. “With the feelings and stuff?”

“Answer me one question first. If a portal opened up today, or six months from now - would you walk through it? No hesitation?”

You take a moment and really ask yourself what you would do.

“I don’t know. At first? Hell yes. And...I want to go home. I want to watch a game at Fenway, instead of there being a bombed-out crater. I want to see my family again, I want to watch Star Wars and hold a Lord of the Rings marathon. And not the regular version - oh no, I want the extended cut.” Your hands shake a little as you force yourself to finish. “But I couldn’t walk away from this fight, no hesitation. Not anymore.”

“And how does that make you feel?”

You scowl at Wilson. “Guilty.”

“Guilty enough to not let yourself face the fact that you have feelings for Barnes?”

“You...just shut up.”

“You’re the one who asked what you should do with your feelings. First step is facing ‘em.”

Another silence, marginally more comfortable now as the last sliver of light fades from the water.

“For what it’s worth,” Wilson finally says, in a voice that’s more somber than anything you’ve ever heard out of his wise-cracking mouth. “I think you should talk to Barnes about it. Life is...unpredictable. At best. You have to grab onto your happinesses where and when you can, y/n.” There’s a world of sadness in his eyes as they meet yours. “I don’t think Barnes or your Steve would begrudge you it. Not when it can all go away tomorrow.”

He lost someone - it’s there to read all over his face - someone who was integral to his own happiness. You could ask about it. You can read that too, though there’s reluctance, and tension, as if he’s bracing himself for a familiar kind of pain.

So instead you take a seat, drag the six pack over, and pat the ground next to you.

When he does take a seat, shooting you a slightly bewildered glance, you raise your bottle.

“To feelings. And stuff.” You ‘cheers’ solemnly.

“Damn right I’m pretty.” Wilson says loudly and trips over his own feet as the two of you sneak into the kitchen.

You scoff at him. “I said ‘petty’.”

Wilson pouts as he picks himself up off the floor. “Admit it - I am the pettiest...no, shit, wait...prettiest.”

You’d finished off the six pack and then Wilson had remembered where Mac hid the good whiskey and now, several hours later, you were both quite drunk. And hungry. Which was why you were trying to stealthily navigate the kitchen while the base around you slept.

The overhead lights came on and nearly blinded you while Wilson actually jumped in surprise.

“What are you doing?” Nat asked, James standing just behind her.

You waved. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Amusement began to soften Nat’s face as she glanced over the two of you. “Are you sober?”

“I am...” You declared as you pulled the fridge door open. Or tried to. It remained firmly shut, no matter how much you tugged on the handle. “I’m moderately functional.”

“That’s a no,” Wilson offered helpfully, finally making his way to one of the counter seats. “But we are hungry.”

“So I gathered.” Nat crossed the room and opened the fridge on the first pull. “Why don’t you let me handle this, y/n?”

“I can cook.”

Wilson and Nat let out identical noises of disbelief.

“Maybe when you’re not drunk.” James took you by the arm and guided you to a seat next to Wilson. “You two just...sit right there and maybe have some water.”

“We had whiskey around here somewhere…” You looked around. “Mac’s gonna be mad. I think we drank it all.”

Wilson put his head down on his hands. “I’m blaming you. _ Your _ feelings and stuff.”

“It’s a toast.” You clarified to Nat and James who were looking at the pair of you and smiling. “Y’know…’to feelings and stuff’.” Your eyes sharpened on the package James pulled out of the fridge. “Is that...bacon? Nat!” Your shout had her spinning to face you so fast you swear you got whiplash. “You can’t let him cook that!”

“What?” Nat asked. “Why not? Bacon and pancakes are good middle of the night drunk food. When cooked by sober people.” She added.

“You just want pancakes and bacon.” Wilson accused.

“That too.”

“You can’t cook that, James.” You whined. “Nat, nooooo….stop him….”

“It’ll be fine.” James assured her. “I can cook bacon.”

You put your head down on your hands this time and began to mourn the delightful treat you would now never get to eat.

In the end, Nat exiled James to sit beside you two while she rescued what was left of the bacon.

“I tried to warn you,” You said sadly, staring at the unsalvageable blackened lumps that James had tried to cook.

“You did.” Nat agreed, sliding you a plate of pancakes. “Now shut up and eat, you idiots.”

Later, when James walked you back to your room because your legs weren’t really all that sturdy, you told him. “We need to talk about feelings and stuff.”

“Uh-huh.” He agreed, opening the door to your room and half-carrying you over to the bed. “We can do that. Tomorrow.” He added, giving you a gentle nudge onto the mattress. “When you’re sober.”

“Tomorrow.” You agreed, feeling your eyes grow heavy. “I’mma hold you to that, Jamie.”

He smiled and unlaced your shoes, sliding them off. “Okay, y/n.”

You tried to pull the blankets up around you, frowned at them when they tangled, and shrugged as James took over. “Thanks.”

God, your eyes were tired.

“No problem, doll.” He brushed a hand over your hair, still smiling.

And between one breath and the next, you fell asleep to the sight of James Buchannon Barnes smiling down at you.


	16. And Now The Moment I've All Been Waiting For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings and stuff, part two!
> 
> Also - soft SMUT (18+ please) and other surprises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Hey all, sorry it's taken so long to get this up - this chapter did not want to be written! As always, thanks for reading and if you happen to have the energy, comments *do* feed the writing machine/monster/mind

Morning came, and with it, a marching band jumping up and down on the inside of your skull. Groaning, you rolled over and tried to look up at the ceiling, but someone had sealed your eyelids shut…

“Oh, this is just pathetic.”

“Fuck off. Quietly.” You ordered, wiping the crusties gluing your eyes shut out of the corners and creases.

The bed dipped and you could  _ hear _ James’ smile as he sat next to you. “Here. Water. Drink.”

You took the glass as you sat up, chugging like a frat boy at his first Greek Week party, and took the two small pills from James. “Bless you.”

“How’s the head?”

“What head?” You asked, managing a half-hearted smile that went un-mirrored. "Jesus, you look grumpy."

“How much of last night do you remember?” His eyes roamed your face, looking for...something.

You snorted. “Enough to know that you and Nat owe me bacon.”

“After the bacon?”

You swallowed, and fought the urge to look away. “I remember the whole night, James.”

“Still up for that talk?”

You held up a hand, saw his entire face go blank, shuttered. “Let a girl brush her teeth first, okay? Feels like something died in there…”

“Gross.” He tossed a pillow at you but he was smiling as you slid - still dressed in your clothes from yesterday - from the bed.

“Okay.” You glanced down at yourself. “Make that a shower too.”

“I’ll be here.” He said, and it was a promise.

Clean, head clearing by the minute, you paused as you stepped out of the bathroom.

As promised, James was sitting right where you’d left him.

Why did the sight of him, just there, fill you with a sudden, wrenching tightness?

“Hey.” 

“Hey.”

“I...I wouldn’t ask you to stay.” And there he was - Brave Barnes, again, leaping forward into the uncomfortable silence, the awkward unknown, dragging you both out of limbo. “If you...I mean, I know this isn’t your Earth. And you have...you have a place there. People. I wouldn’t ask you to give up your soulmate.”

“Thanks?” You sank down onto the bed next to him, saw the wince he tried to hide. “James. I like you. A lot. And considering the shit the universe has put me through for the last three years...I...I wasn’t expecting to like someone like this. Ever.”

“So where...where does that leave us?”

“I don’t know,” You confess. “And I...I have some guilt I’m still working through. But Wilson -” You laugh at the face he pulls. “He helped a lot last night. I’m not saying I won’t get too in my head, that I won’t pull back, or just...straight out fuck this up. But I would really like to try not. Fucking this up.” You clarify as heat creeps into your cheeks. “I can’t...I can’t promise you anything, James, and that makes this a shitty idea.”

He’s inching closer, or maybe you are, or maybe both of you are. But you’re suddenly aware of how close you’re sitting, of the warmth pouring off that super-soldier body as he  _ looks _ at you.

“I can’t promise you anything either.” He shakes his head, cutting off your protest. “I’ve got a lot of red in my ledger, y/n. And if the moral arc of the universe bends towards justice...well. So I won’t ask you to stay. And I won’t promise you anything more than the day in front of us, because I don’t know that I’ll be here to see the next one.”

“But this isn’t casual.”

Those eyes - those eyes of winter frost - flare bright as they drop to your lips. “No. No, this isn’t casual.”

You’ll never know, when you look back at this moment, who closed the distance.

The kiss is a slow smolder, a tasting on both your parts. Hesitant at first, melting into something else, so that by the time you break away, both of you are breathing hard.

“I don’t...this doesn’t....” He swallows hard, but his eyes are burning over you. “This is just…”

“James,” You can’t quite manage a confident laugh. “Please just shut up and kiss me.”

The first time is awkward - made up of fumbling moments and nervous hands, shy lips. You both half-laugh your way through until the moment when nature takes over and what was uncertain and tentative becomes urgent and frantic and wipes away the last vestiges of hesitation.

The second time is better, slower, though not so slow as to spill too deeply into an intimacy neither of you is ready for.  Long moments of teasing tongues and paying attention to what moves you, what moves him. You delight in the way he flinches as your lips cruise down over his hip bones -  _ Ticklish, James _ ? you tease - and the shuddering inhale he gulps down as you return the favor of tasting him and the way he comes undone, one hand fisted in your hair, the other clenching at the sheets as your mouth works him over.

The third time it’s you coming undone as he rolls you over, pinning you beneath him, fingers digging half-moon nail marks into his broad shoulders as your leg wraps over his hip like kudzu to drag him closer. The pace is passionate, fast and slow, deep and hard and it’s a benediction and a blessing when, wrung dry, you both lay there, half tangled, limbs barely able to lift.

You fall asleep like that, your fingers playing with the short strands of his hair while he nuzzles at your collarbone. His larger hand squeezing your hip in reflex is the last thing you feel before sleep mugs you and drags you under before you have time to start having feelings about it.

You groan in protest a few hours later as James’ body shifts out from under you. “Nuh-uh.”

You can almost  _ hear _ his smile as he pulls the covers back up over you, presses a kiss to your temple and tells you to go back to sleep.

“Where’re you going?” You manage to ask, eyes barely open as he tugs his pants on, and oh my - that is a sight you could get used to.

From the grin on his face, he knows it, half turning to press another kiss to your lips, leaning over the bed. “ ‘M gonna tell Nat to take us both off the roster for a couple days. If that’s...I mean...I’m not-”

Your laugh is more of a huff as you drop your head back onto the pillow. “We’re overdue. Bring food when you come back.”

He snaps off a two-fingered salute as he pushes away and you are treated to the wonderful flex of that muscled back for a long minute as he looks around for the shirt you don’t remember taking off him. He spots it, pulls it on, glances back at you again with another boyish smile.

“Go back to sleep y/n.”

“Food,” You remind him, eyes already sliding shut again.

The door to your room opens and shuts, loud enough to rouse you from the light doze you’d fallen into, but you still aren’t ready to open your eyes yet.

“Food?” You ask optimistically.

There’s a silence in the air, weighted down, that has your nerves humming.

“James?” You manage to pull your head up from the pillows with all the loggy grace of a tranquilized boar. “Did you-”

It’s not James standing inside the door of your room, staring at you with cold fury in those dark eyes, fists clenching and unclenching in time with the pulse jumping in his jaw as Brock Rumlow takes in the sight of you dressed only in a sheet and hangover, asking for another man by name.

For a long moment, both of you are frozen.

"Hello, Sunshine."


	17. Bargains and Bartons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Aaaaahhh I'm a simple hoe who's motivated like hell by comments. Thank you all for commenting last chapter - have another since I wrote it on my lunch break (longer chapter coming around Thursday)

_ “Hello Sunshine.” _

The words jolt you into action - but not fast enough as Rumlow brings his gun up to center on you. And so you sit, having just made it to the edge of the bed, sheet still wrapped around you, and try not to make any sudden movements because the tension pouring off of Rumlow does not bode well.

Getting shot? Not a good plan. Getting shot will hurt, and it will slow you down, and you need neither of those things as you fight to keep your adrenaline in check with steady, smooth breaths.

“How did you get in here?” There are no sirens going off in the background, no shouts of alarm or gunfire. This is a stealth infiltration, not an outright assault.

“I used the door, sweetheart.” Rumlow scoffs, and doesn’t lower the gun. “Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

Someone let him in. Someone told him where to find you.

There’s a mole in the Lighthouse and your blood runs cold at the realization.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” If you go with him, you’ll wish you were dead - you can read it in his eyes as they focus on a love-bite hovering over your bared collarbone.

Those obsidian eyes sharpen. “I’m not dragging you out of here in a bedsheet, sunshine. Put on some damn clothes, or I’ll give the order to firebomb half this base.”

He wants to do it, so you slide the rest of the way out of the bed and fumble your way through getting dressed, trying to ignore his eyes on your body as you yank on leggings and a shirt James must’ve left another time, because you have to roll the sleeves up a couple of times.

Rumlow doesn’t miss the sizing discrepancy. “James, huh? You let that backstabbing son of a bitch into your bed?”

There’s no way he can stay hidden in the Lighthouse for long, no matter how good of a stealth team he has, you think. Stall. You have to stall long enough for someone to notice something is wrong, because the second you walk out of here with him, he’s going to wipe the Lighthouse - and your friends - from the map.

“What if I did?” You ask, and you lift your chin defiantly, intentionally provoking the bull.

Rumlow takes the bait, coming closer without consciously having decided to. That’s to your advantage - the closer he is, the more options you have that don’t involve getting shot.

“It will take him days to die.” The words are soft, practically a purr, a promise of malevolent velvet violence. “Days, y/n.”

The shiver that runs through you is entirely genuine.

“I brought you a gift.” The abrupt change in topic is welcome as he pulls out two familiar looking bracelets from his tac vest pocket. “Put them on.”

Suppression cuffs.

You eye the cuffs, then the gun, then Rumlow. “No.”

The door to the hall opens, and Rogers shoves Barton into the room, stumbling to the floor. “Time to go,” Rogers announces, then tips you a cheery two-fingered salute. “Good to see ya again, y/n.”

“Ah ah ah,” Rumlow warns as your hands begin to glow, putting off enough light to alter the shadows on the wall. “None of that. Or I paint this room in Barton brains.”

Barton shakes his head. “Don’t do it, y/n. I’m dead anyway.”

Rumlow is swinging the gun around and you know he’ll do it - he’s not a man lacking in follow through - and you can see only Barton’s kids from the one picture he keeps in his room, and endless bags of trail mix hidden every-damn-where, and the spill of red stardust and kind words and you can’t let Rumlow kill him. You just can’t.

“Wait! Just,” You swallow, and take a step closer to Rumlow. “Don’t kill him. Please.” It takes every ounce of spycraft you have to keep your face and voice soft, scared, instead of angry as your fingers brush Rumlow’s arm. It takes no acting at all to beg, however. “Please.”

Rogers’ eyes roll, but Rumlow is watching  _ you _ , and there’s a  _ wanting _ there that frightens you beyond words.  You don’t have to fake the tremor in your hands as you take the cuffs from Rumlow’s other hand, and you feel him shake with a different kind of tremor as your fingers touch brush his skin. His hand half-closes reflexively as you draw away.

The cuffs close around your wrists with a finality that almost pushes you into panic. You can’t help but feel like a door has slammed, or someone has walked over your grave, and Rumlow steps closer to you, intimately close as Rogers hauls Barton back to his feet.

“Let’s go home, Sunshine.” He presses a soft kiss to your forehead and smiles as you shiver.


	18. Halfway Over, Completely Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: I...I literally need to go to bed but I *want* to keep writing

“Aren’t we looking pleased with ourselves?”

James feels his ears heat at the drawl of Wilson’s voice and is glad his head is buried in the fridge because it buys him the time to school his expression before he closes the door and sees Captain America’s shit-eating grin as he leans against the counter.

“You gonna eat all that by your lonesome?” Wilson prods with a knowing look, nodding his head at the mountain of food he’s holding.

“Stuff it.”

Wilson hoots, claps his hands. “Bout damn time, Barnes.” And then he settles as James turns to rifle through the cabinets for bowls and plates and knives. “So...you and y/n finally had that talk.”

Oh. 

Oh there was more than just talking, and he can feel his body responding, remembering the way you felt, moved,  _ tasted _ on him, under him. He pauses, takes a couple of deep breaths, tries to pull his mind out of the sense-memory gutter and not think about the way you gasped his name or the way your eyes went blind with pleasure when his hand…

Nope. Out of the gutter, Barnes, he reminded himself. Baseball. Think about baseball. Or Mitch McConnell. Or centipedes. Ewww….creepy motherfuckers.

“More than just talking happened, I take it.”

James narrowed his eyes at Wilson the way he used to when he wanted to make someone afraid of him as the Winter Wolf. “Captain America or not, I  _ will _ stab you.”

“Hey man,” Wilson holds his hands up in mock surrender. “It’s just good to see two people happy around here, that’s all. Heard you asking Nat to take you both off the roster for a few days.”

James raises an eyebrow.

“Good for you. Both of you.” 

There’s more Wilson wants to say, and James isn’t foolish enough to think it’s all teasing. A moment passes, then another as he busies himself with cutting up food.

“You’re okay with this? Her baggage?” 

James blinks at him in surprise. Is that... _ concern _ ? For him? In Wilson’s voice? “What?”

Wilson’s gaze is steady. “I don’t have to like you, Barnes, to know you. You’re clearly halfway off the cliff when it comes to y/n. You’re also a valuable asset to this team.”

“What happened to ‘good to see people happy’?” James felt his lip curl in the beginnings of a snarl, ordering himself to relax even as the knife began to move with a little more force than he’d intended.

“Just trying to head off the car crash. Have fun, be happy in the now. But don’t forget where this road is likely going to lead the pair of you.”

“You give her the same pep talk?” Oh yes, that  _ is _ a snarl in his voice as he focuses ruthlessly on slicing the fruit in front of him. “Or am I just special?”

“Oh, you’re special alright,” Wilson huffs. “But whereas your ass is all but jumping out of a plane without a parachute for her, she’s practically just crawled out of the grave of her last relationship. Different places. Different pep talk.”

“Who’s getting a pep talk?” Mac asks from the door, taking in the room. “Oh. Nevermind. I don’t wanna know nothing about anything. Cap,” He asks, moving on with the brisk efficiency James has come to appreciate. “You authorize any takeoffs today?”

Everything in him comes alive, every instinct and nerve humming. Wilson’s do too apparently, as he stands and pushes off the counter.

“No. Nothing til tomorrow.” They’re all already moving toward the door as Wilson asks. “Whose authorization code was used?”

“Y/n’s.”

The rock of foreboding drops directly into James’ gut at terminal velocity, food forgotten.

There’s no way you’d be running. No way. Even if you wanted to - and he’s certain that’s not what you’re doing - he left you damn near comatose in your bed, and still half-hungover. No way are you about to try and pilot a quinjet out of here.

Wilson’s worried glance shows him he’s not alone in his concern as they wordlessly break into a run for the hangar.

Barton’s body goes flying through the doors as they arrive and the man inventive cussing turns the air blue as he tries to push himself up, then gives up. He waves Mac off. “Rumlow. Rogers. Have y/n.”

James is through the door before another word can pass, and his heart stops as he sees you going full tilt with Rogers as Rumlow preps the jet.

Your powers - why aren’t you...his eyes notice the shine around your wrists. Suppression tech.

Not that you need it. You’re clearly making Steve - Rogers - work for it, leveraging your speed and agility against his reach and force.

Lethal as hell, and lovely with it to boot.

Yeah, he thinks as he watches you sneak under Rogers’ guard and hammer home a ruthless strike to a nerve cluster that nearly drops him, Wilson was right - James Buchannon Barnes is officially gone-over-the-cliff-edge-in-love with you. There’s no halfway about it.

You pause as Rogers regroups, chest heaving as you meet his eyes and it’s the sexiest damn thing James has ever seen in his entire fucking life because he can see his own feelings reflecting back at him while you stand there in your fury, wearing one of his shirts.

You’re fucking magnificent.

Your eyes go wide, landing on something behind him, and he turns, but not fast enough to stop the younger agent who just entered the room from pistol whipping the shit out of Wilson, who drops like a fucking rock before putting James in the cross hairs.

“Easy, Barnes,” Grant Ward says, and James knows that he can’t push - Ward will drop him without a second thought. “Easy...”

“Bout time you got here,” Rumlow calls from the jet, obviously enjoying the scene in front of him as Rogers finds his footing again. “What took you so long?”

“Had to deal with Romanov.” Ward says, eyes still locked on him as he starts to circle, forcing James to turn to keep him in sight as Ward moves toward the jet. “We good to go, sir?”

“Almost. Sunshine?” Rumlow extends a hand to you. “Shall we?”

You flinch at the nickname, and he can see the decision you reach as Ward menaces him with the gun in a fairly pointed incentive kind of way as Rogers limps onto the jet.

“Don’t.” He only says the one word. Don’t. Don’t, as in ‘Don’t I’m not worth it’, ‘Don’t, fate was coming for me anyway.’, ‘Don’t, you deserve better than this’. 

He can’t watch you trade your freedom for his life.

It breaks something inside of him to watch your gaze move back to him. Regret, longing, apology...each flashing across your face.

“You won’t firebomb the base.” You say, and it’s a question for Rumlow but the way your eyes slide to him, James knows you’re giving him intel. Rumlow threatened to bomb the base - and the minute he has you at minimum safe distance, he will.

“I’ve got what I came for.” Rumlow’s answer neatly dodges, and oh, god, James might just throw up watching the asshole’s face go a little soft as he gazes at you. “Don’t make me tranquilize you, y/n.”

You shudder and James can feel his face go pale at the thought of you unconscious, helpless, and alone with Brock.

You place your hand in Rumlow’s and it takes everything he has not to charge Ward at the way you seem to shrink and Rumlow’s hand closes over yours possessively.

“We aren’t finished.” Rumlow’s gaze is deadly and flat as he looks at James. “I promised my sunshine I’d make your death last for days, Barnes. I’m planning on keeping that promise, you understand me?”

The wordless snarl that rumbles out of his chest isn’t words, is barely human, and Ward’s finger tightens on the trigger. Not enough to squeeze off a shot, but it’s close. Too close if he doesn’t want to take a bullet to center mass.

“Don’t,” You say the word and it aches through him to hear you pleading with that bastard as Ward continues to back towards the jet. “Please. You’re getting what you want, Rum- _ Brock _ .”

“Ward?” Rumlow is half-turned to face you now, one hand cupping the side of your face. 

“Yeah boss?”

“Slow ‘im down, please.”

The bullet rips through James’ leg even as he hears your shout of protest. Fire washing through him - god, he hates getting shot - almost strong enough to drown out the whine of the engine as the jet powers up.

The last glimpse he has of you is your body, stock-still as Rumlow presses his forehead gently against yours.


	19. It's About To Go Down

_ Your Earth...Nowish _

“It’s ready.” Strange says and Steve closes his eyes as a wave of feelings sweep through him. “Or as ready as we can make it.” Strange’s tone turns softer. “You understand the risk you’re taking, Captain? This is a one-shot deal.”

“I’m willing.” Steve can still see you when he closes his eyes, still see that holographic projection as you say goodbye. “You’re sure…” He has to swallow to push the words past the lump in his throat. “You’re sure that she’s still alive?”

It's been three years.

Three years of not being able to do anything about the way your presence has begun to fade out of his life. Your room feels less like your space and more like a temple for a ghost, untouched saved for the cleaning crew that comes in to dust once a week. The scent of you has long-since faded from his bed and from your clothes, and he's begun to forget the sound of your laugh and the way you smile - like looking through a blurry glass or hearing a shaky broadcast, he knows what they should be, but they aren't there anymore and the panic has been growing in him that one day sooner rather than later he's going to wake up and you'll be completely _gone_.

“Yes.” The snap in Strange’s voice isn’t a new sound - but the Sorceror Supreme sighs through the phone and Steve can picture the man pressing long-jointed fingers to his temple. “Yes, we know she’s alive. The resonance from her message is still strong.”

Years. It’d taken them years to work out how to get to you.

_ Hang on, baby _ , Steve thinks,  _ We’re coming for you. _


	20. Homesick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: OMG this is SO much later than I planned! Thanks for your patience, all - hope this is worth the wait! Trigger warnings for non-con (implied/referenced)
> 
> Allllssssoooo....we're down to the last few chapters 😬

It’s been five days since Rumlow firebombed the Lighthouse.

Five days.

You can’t do anything about the weight and the worry you carry with you as you think about your friends except try to live with it, reinstalled in one of Stark Tower’s secure suites - one without a balcony this time.

God, you hope they made it out in time.

“Thinking about your friends again, sunshine?” Rumlow’s gaze is knowing from the couch where he’s sprawled, lazy like a lion. “You could just believe me when I tell you they’re dead.” He laughs as you glare and holds up his hands. “Or not.”

He’s been a fucking shadow on you since you got on the Quinjet at the Lighthouse. If you go to a different room, he goes too, which is why you’re lingering out here in the living space instead of retreating to the bedroom.

Brock Rumlow likes being the big spoon, among other things.

So here you are, five days in, killing time with a book in hand - rereading the same line over and over and over again - trying not to give in to the panic that’s slowly eating away at your control, dreading the moment when his body is lying next to yours and he takes what he very obviously wants from you. Again.

He likes it when you fight him, and you wish you could withhold that small measure of joy from him, but you can’t - you literally can’t just  _ let him _ touch you and thrust and grunt and…

You stifle the shiver of revulsion that threatens to run through you at the sense-memory as the door to the suite lets out a charming little trill, indicating someone is requesting access.

“It’s Commander Rogers, sir.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. informs the pair of you.

“Let him in,” Rumlow pushes to his feet. “A little company’d be nice, right sunshine?”

You ignore him by turning the page of the book you are holding but not actually reading and he laughs on his way to the door.

You keep your eyes on the book as they exchange manly greetings - that weird, male forearm grab to hug motion just at the edge of your peripheral vision - and move back towards the living room.

Rogers starts for a moment when he sees you, but it’s so quick, you can’t get a read on it.

“Got rid of the face-fur?” Rumlow asks, pouring two drinks from the bar cart.

You look up at that, and well, what do you know - Rogers has indeed put on the clean-shaven look again. It should make him look...younger. Softer. It doesn’t, despite the added flush to his cheeks as he catches you looking.

“Yeah,” He huffs as Rumlow hands him a glass. “Felt like it was time for a change. Still, gonna take some getting used to.”

His hands are fidgeting around the edge of the glass, and some instinct in you comes awake at the sight of it. Something...something about that motion, restless fingers tap, tap, tapping on the edge of glass...your eyes narrow as you try to uncover the hint your brain is teasing you with.

“What do you think, Sunshine?” There’s a slight edge in Rumlow’s voice, a warning.

You realize you’ve been glaring at Rogers, and you blink, shake it off, and drop your eyes back to the page in front of you.

The words are blurring on the page and you don’t realize why until a droplet of water lands on it.

The low murmur of male voices slows as you blink rapidly.

“Sunshine…” Rumlow is next to you, hand on your chin, tilting it upward. “You’re crying.”

You jerk your chin free of his fingers and wipe the wetness away with the edge of your sleeve.

You see understanding cross that arrogant face and feel the pit in your stomach gaping wide.

“You knew Rogers on your earth.” It isn’t a guess, god damn Rumlow’s too-keen mind. “That version...he was clean shaven, wasn’t he, Sunshine?”

“Go to hell.” You don’t have much Rumlow can’t take from you, but this - this you aren’t going to give him. No, you aren’t going to give him  _ Steve _ .

Rogers is scowling at his drink. Guess he doesn’t like the thought of there being two of him. Too bad.

“Hey,” He wipes at another tear that’s rolled free, coasting over your cheek, and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “It’s okay, y/n. It’s okay to be a little homesick now and again. You won’t miss them as much as time goes on, sweetheart.”

He doesn’t  _ know _ . The relief that shudders through you is all too real, and Rumlow - for once- doesn’t see it as his hand eases over your hair.

You look away, and catch the frown Rogers tosses in Rumlow’s direction and that nagging instinct is itching away again. If only you could…

Rumlow’s wrist device goes off, and two seconds later there’s a deafening noise of something many stories below exploding followed by F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s general alert call. Rumlow’s face twists into an animal snarl as he reads whatever’s on the tiny screen. “Fucking goddamn Avengers.” And then he's striding towards the door, towards action. He's halfway through the space before he turns and scowls at Rogers. "You waiting for an invitation, Rogers?"

Rogers shakes his head, tosses back the drink and moves to catch up. "Nah. Figured I'd just give you a head start."

You watch them both go...

And then you watch Rogers, catching up to Rumlow at the suite door, swing a massive, full-force punch to Rumlow's jaw.

Rumlow drops like a rock.

Your mouth actually falls open in surprise.

And you watch as Commander Rogers vanishes, discarded like a snakeskin, revealing Steve Rogers - your Steve - dragging Rumlow's unconscious body back into the suite, with a nervous shades-of-boyish smile as he moves back towards you.

The tapping. The glass tap, that thing Steve does when he's nervous and preoccupied.

"Hey." He says, the big goofy idiot, pulling you to your feet. "Sorry it took me so long to get here."

And you burst into tears as his arms close around you.


	21. Homebound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeeeee! So close, so close, so close to the end!

Thor may be the God of Biceps, but he can’t hold a candle to the feeling of Steve’s arms around you again for the first time in years as he squeezes you tight to him.

“You’re here.” You manage before the pain of standing forces you to sink back into the chair. “You’re really really here. Wait - make a Star Wars reference so I know it’s really you.”

Steve frowns, looking down at your leg. “I find your lack of faith disturbing.”

“Holy shit.” You’re going to start crying again. “You’re really - but how? How did you get here? How did you find me?”

“Long story. Explain when we’re home - we don’t have a ton of time.” His eyes narrow at the awkward way you’re holding your leg. “Can you move?”

“Uh. It’s, uh...it’s pretty badly bruised. I can’t...I can’t really stand on it.” You have a half second to feel the flush of being embarrassed and then you let out a surprised yelp as Steve scoops you up out of the chair in one smooth motion, carrying you bridal style as the yelp turns to laughter. “This really isn’t going to be ideal if we have to fight our way out of here.”

Steve’s already moving to the door. “We don’t need to - just gotta make it to the breach on the roof. That explosion came in handy, not gonna lie.”

“Wait,” You stare up at him. “That wasn’t you?”

He shakes his head, already scanning the hallway as he steps through the door, mindful of you and the doorway. “No. Fucking Avengers?”

You grin up at him. “Yeah. We’re rebels here. Or, well, I am. You’re one of the bad guys. Commander Hydra,” You add when he gives you an ‘oh really?’ look and you laugh again at his shock. “Yeah. Shittiest. Earth. Ever.”

He shakes his head and kicks open the stairwell door.

You see a flash of movement as bodies come up from the next landing and have exactly two seconds to shout, “He’s okay! He’s with me!” as Nat knocks James’ arm to the side, and the shot that would have buried itself in Steve’s head buries itself in the wall instead.

Nat’s eyes are moving over you both. “Well, here we were, all set to rescue you. Your Rogers?”

You nod. “Steve, meet Nat. Nat, Steve.”

“This is...weird.” Steve grumbles. “I already know Nat and Bucky.”

“Oh, this is James.” Nat corrects, digging an elbow into James’ ribs as he looks at you, face a mask.

It hurts to see it now. When you first got here, you couldn’t reconcile how open and expressive the Winter Wolf of this world was compared to the Winter Soldier of your own.

Now you can’t stand to see that emotive face wiped clean of all feeling.

“Steve,” You find the voice to say. “Give us a minute.”

It’s a long couple of seconds before he does, placing you next to the railing so you can lean your weight on it, and moving to the other side of the landing, arms crossed over his chest as Nat joins him, though his eyes are sliding between you and James like a game of Atari.

“So...this is goodbye.” The stranglehold he must be keeping on his emotions is ruthless - his tone is flat, devoid of emotion.

“James-”

“I told you I wouldn’t stop you. And I won’t.” His gaze slides past you to Steve. “Take care of her, Rogers.”

And then you’re watching him walk away, heading down the stairs for the fights you can hear echoing through the building as something twists and knots painfully inside your chest.

“Time to go folks,” Sam’s voice is coming through Steve’s earpiece. “Our clock is running down.”

“I’ll be okay.” You say to Nat as Steve scoops you back up, gives you a soft squeeze.

“Yeah. I can see that.” The smile she shoots you is soft. “Look us up if you’re ever back in the neighborhood.”

“Right back atcha, Red.” You toss over Steve’s shoulder as he puts those powerful legs into hauling ass up the stairs.

Sam is waiting on the roof, guarding the brightly glowing breach between worlds. “Took ya long enough.”

“Good to see you too, Birdbrain.” You retort and he ruffles your hair playfully.

“Y/n!” Rumlow shouts form the door and Steve is spinning to face this new threat and Jesus, you should have just killed him when he was unconscious you think as you watch Rumlow take in the scene in front of him, gauging the distance between you and the breach with cold calculation.

You know what he’s going to do before his finger squeezes the trigger.

Rumlow is a sore loser.

You know there’s no avoiding it, even as the sound of the gun echoes like it’s underwater, even as Steve tries to move - too little, too late - and you feel the decision resolve inside you with iron finiteness. 

You shift in Steve’s arms and place yourself in the path of the bullet Rumlow aimed at his heart.


	22. Homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: I’m literally over here screaming (in glee) to myself because it’s like the dam of words I’ve been struggling with this week on this WIP just fucking exploded last night. Here, have another chapter 🥳

You’re back in medical and your body is awash in pain.

Oh god, you think. Rumlow really went to town on you this time, because your whole body feels like it’s been hit by a train. He’s probably going to kill you one of these days.

You try to move your arm, whimper as agony shoots through your shoulder and voices and bodies draw closer in a sudden rush of movement and noise.

_ No _ , You think, fear pushing past the pain. No,  _ no one _ is going to touch you again, goddamnit…

You blink and you’re crouched in the corner, hand clenched around a scalpel - where did that come from? - as the Avengers stare at you.

“What the fuck?” You hear Wilson -  _ Sam _ \- whisper in shock as you start to piece it all together.

Steve, showing up to rescue you, the breach on the roof, the gun going off and...the scalpel falls from your hands as your vision focuses again and you can see your friends, your  _ family _ , staring at you with wide eyes.

You take in the architecture, the design of everything around you and your legs go out from under you.

Home.

You’re  _ home _ .

Water floods your eyes as something internally cracks under the pressure.

No one tries to touch you this time, though you’re aware of Steve’s large frame straining towards you as you sit on the floor and just...cry it all out.

“Sorry guys.” You say after you’ve finally run dry. “Been a rough time.” Your stomach grumbles. “Damn, I’m starving.”

Sam laughs, and the sound is like a signal, bleeding tension from all the bodies in the room except Steve’s. “Jesus, y/n. Jesus.” He shakes his head. “I’ll get you something. Anything. Whatever you want.”

“Ahh...Burger?” Your stomach growls again.

“You got it.” His eyes slide over you, over Steve, and you remember that he used to do counseling down at the VA before he joined the Avengers. “We’ll all give you two some time, okay?”

You nod, even though the question wasn’t a question and it wasn’t directed at you.

The rest of the team filters out of the room, and when it’s finally just you and Steve, he scoots close enough to take your hand.

“If,” He says, and you can see he’s completely serious. “You ever do something that fucking stupid ever again I’ll…” He flounders here and it makes you smile, your other hand coming up to cup his cheek, and his eyes close as he presses into the contact. “Goddammit, y/n, you scared the motherfucking shit out of me.”

“Language.”

Those brilliantly blue eyes snap open on your face, fierce. “I mean it. You lost so much blood…” His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “They said if we hadn’t had the breach open into the medical bay, you might not have made it.”

“Hey,” You say. “I’m here. I made it. We made it. We’re home.”

For a long moment the two of you just sit there, and it should be the closest thing to peace you’ve felt in the last three years.

You’re safe.

Your soulmate is  _ right there _ .

And there’s this feeling, under the surface of it all, that you’ve missed a step.

You’ve been gone long enough that everything, as familiar as it feels, also is a half-beat off, a note too high, a tune just at the edge of your hearing. It’s duller than the disconnect when you first arrived in doppelgangland, and somehow that makes it worse because you’re just that much more aware of how it  _ should _ be.

“I…” You try to find the words to reach across the bridge of three years and two worlds and fall woefully short. “What happened? After I got shot?”

“Well, your friend James was about two steps behind Rumlow. Pretty sure Rumlow’s dead over there now too from the way he went after him.” Steve’s eyes are open again, and on your face as he asks. “You two…”

“Yeah.” You have to look away as you admit to it, hands clenching and unclenching at your sides. Because yeah, you are that asshole who gave up on coming home to her soulmate. You don’t deserve Steve Rogers, who followed you through a fucking interdimensional portal to bring you home…

Oh, you think, eyes watering. Guess you’re not quite dry after all.

“He mattered.”

You nod. “Yeah. He mattered.”

One of Steve’s massive hands covers your own, squeezing gently until you look up at him. “It’s okay. It’s okay, y/n.”

It isn’t. It really isn’t, you think, but you let him pull you in for a hug, squeezing your eyes shut tight against his shoulder.

You’re stuck in medical until your shoulder heals a bit more, and the truth is, you’re grateful you don’t have to face your old room just yet. As if, by putting off moving back in, you can somehow avoid the feeling of being haunted by a past-you.

Sam and Helen get you in touch with a therapist, and it helps, a little. To have someone to look at the pieces of you that you’re trying to reassemble now that you’re home. Someone who doesn’t look at you with the weight of expectation - about who you were, or your relationship with Steve, or how you’re avoiding your own self.

Bit by bit, you start to heal.

Steve is...he’s everything you could ask for - he visits every day, and piece by piece draws the story of the last three years from you, somehow never pressing too much on still-tender wounds carved in your psyche.

Nat too comes to see you every day, and she tells you what you’ve missed in the last three years. Over coffee, you catch up on events, politics, relationships…

And then one morning, the coffee barely reaches your lips before you’re hurtling towards the bathroom.

You toss the lid up and your entire digestive system revolts, upchucking everything.

Cool hands hold your hair back as you worship the porcelain deities and then Helen is there, running tests and drawing blood and promising results even as you beg them both not to call Steve until you know more. A bug, you think. No need to trouble him over it.

But it isn’t a bug.

Helen gives you the results of your blood panel as you squeeze down tightly on Nat’s hand and feel the floor drop out from under you.

The word keeps flashing across your mind.

Pregnant.

You're pregnant.

“This isn’t happening,” You whisper miserably. “This can’t...what did I do in a past life to deserve this?”

“Hey. Hey,” Nat’s hands squeeze yours as she looks you in the face, concern and acceptance written there. “It’s gonna be okay. We’re going to handle this. Like the family we are.”

“How...How am I gonna tell them?” How are you going to tell  _ Steve? _

Helen Cho’s face is surprisingly fierce. “You decide, y/n. For now, this goes no further than this room. If you decide you’d rather not...well, there are many paths open to you, and as your doctor, I will personally stab anyone who gives you shit about any of them.”

You and Nat just stare at her.

She shrugs. “Sometimes you all forget that in order to heal stab wounds and gunshots you have to understand the damage they do and how.”

The thought of slender, delicate Helen Cho going full-on-assassin on the Avengers is enough to make you bark out a laugh, and Nat is smiling too, and while you’re still fucking terrified - maybe more terrified than you’ve ever been in your life - you’re just a tiny teaspoon less terrified than you were five minutes ago.

“I can make it look like an accident.” Helen promises.  When you and Nat finish laughing and wiping away the tears that accompany said giggles, her gaze softens. "I can give you medical advice, y/n, but this decision...this is yours. If you decide you don't want to keep it, I think...I don't think anyone would judge you for it, but we can handle this discretely."

"Whatever you decide," Nat's hand squeezes yours now. "I'm in your corner, y/n."

"How...how far along?" You ask.

"Two weeks, give or take a day."

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Your face must give you away because Nat's face is concerned now. "Y/n?"

"It's not..." You have to try a couple times to get the words out. "It's not Rumlow's."


	23. The End is Nigh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: SECOND TO LAST CHAPTER HOLY CRAP
> 
> Also, I *loved* y'alls comments over the last few days - thank you so much for feeding the writing monster
> 
> This chapter could have gone a couple of ways, and probably could have been one suuuuper long chapter, but I split it into parts to make it flow a little more

_ (Almost) Five years later _

“I’m hit!” Sam shouts, grabbing his side and spinning away from the next round of incoming projectiles. “Taking heavy fire over here! Where the hell’s my back up!”

“Uncle Sammy said a bad word!” Morgan’s gleeful exclamation has Pepper leveling a look at the Falcon from the table where she and you are cutting slices off the birthday cake. 

The chorus of a horde of under-eight-year-olds chanting ‘hell’ as they chase him while firing nerf guns is almost as funny as the panicked look Sam gives you.

You shrug at him, giving him a look that says ‘you’re on your own pal’.

“Between him and Tony…” Pepper sighs. “I guess I should be grateful it’s only those two who can’t seem to clean up their language around the kids.”

“With the number of agents, geniuses, superheroes that come running through the compound on a daily basis, yeah.” You agree as the screaming masses descend on the cake, and all conversation is dropped in the face of overwhelming small faces and hands.

It’s a good ten minutes later as the pair of you are picking up discarded plates that she asks you, trying to be casual. “So, any idea if Steve will make it?”

You send her a smile that tells her you know exactly what she’s doing. “Yes. He’ll be here for dinner.”

“Dinner, hmm?”

“Oh don’t do that thing,” You roll your eyes and put another brightly-colored paper plate in the trash bag. “Don’t think I don’t see you all trying to push us back together.”

“Well, would it really be the worst thing in the world if you did?” Pepper asks.

You shrug, but it isn’t casual, and it isn’t easy. “There’s nothing wrong with my life, Pep. I have a lot more than a lot of women. I have all of you, and my baby girl, and that…” You blow out a breath. “That’s enough, Pepper.”

Her look says she doesn’t believe you.

But then, none of your friends do.

No matter how many times you’ve tried to explain it to them over the years.

You have so much more than you thought you would have.

It seems greedy to wish, as you watch your daughter run and play with her friends and all of her aunts and uncles in this family made by choice...to wish for someone to fall asleep next to, to carry the load, to wake next to, to tell stories about what your daughter has gotten into for the day.

And as much as you want to have someone to hold in the quiet hours of the morning...there’s no risk of you opening your heart to another person that way again. You just...you don't have it in you.

“How do you do this every day?” Sam asks, dropping onto the couch next to you. “My god…”

You laugh at his antics. “Thanks for hanging around and helping with the clean up.”

“No problem. I gotta defend the title. Favorite uncle,” He adds at your lifted eyebrow. “It was close for a minute there with the gifts and Bucky, but I think I eeked out a win.”

Both of you are sprawled, boneless in the aftermath of a four year old’s birthday party and you think as much as you love your daughter and the hooligans she calls cousins, the silence might be the best thing you’ve ever heard.

“Steve didn’t make it.”

You shake your head. “No. Mission got a little messy - they’re okay, but he won’t be back til tomorrow. We’ll do breakfast in the morning.” You smile thinking about it. “He’ll make her pancakes with fruity pebbles on top and it’ll be good.”

“And how’s that going? The whole partial-parenting thing? Seems you two are spending a lot of time together again…” He holds his hands up under your narrowed glare, all innocent. “Just asking. As a friend.”

“He’s great with Bex.”

“And?” Sam rolls his eyes at your shrug this time. “Okay, hold up. Reality check. Whenever he isn’t on missions or working with the recruits, he’s here with you and Bex. And I know it, because I bribed F.R.I.D.A.Y. to tell me-”

“How do you bribe an A.I.?”

He keeps going, ignoring your wondering question. “You have a really strange and weird co-parenting thing going on that seems to be working, you’re soulmates, and you’ve both had plenty of time to sort through some of the messier points in your shared history. Are you telling me there are no sparks there? Not even bitty-baby embers of sparks?”

You huff out a breath. “Sam. The fact that we’re even capable of being actual, real friends is something of a miracle. I cheated on him-”

“You were on another earth and had no indications coming home was possible-”

“-And then I got knocked up by the guy I cheated on him with -”

“It’s not like you planned it!”

“And  _ then _ ,” You finish, “Many nasty terrible things were said by both parties and he took off for a year and a half on a deep cover operation.”

Sam holds up his right hand with a wince. “Yeah. Not his finest moment. Our boy is not good at dealing with his feelings. And,” He adds with a childish complaint “My pinky  _ still _ won’t straighten all the way out, by the way, from all the squeezing you did in delivery.”

“My hero.” You yawn, feeling your eyelids sinking down. “Okay, I’m toast. Bex’s out for the night. You crashing here or…”

Sam’s already shaking his head as you push back to your feet. “Nah. I’mma head back down to my suite. And y/n?”

“Yeah?” You ask over your shoulder, already making for the hallway that leads to yours and Bex’s bedrooms.

“You deserve to be happy.” It wrenches something in your chest as he looks at you, so like another Sam Wilson on another world, in another time. “Don’t forget that.”

You’re roused to consciousness by the light from the hallway drifting in through your doorway, and the silhouette of a familiar super soldier set of shoulders as you blink sleepily.

Tony’s right, you think as your lips curl upwards. He really  _ is _ shaped like a dorito. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Steve Rogers whispers. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Just got back, couldn’t...I wanted to see her.” Whatever your shared history, Steve does love your daughter like his own.

“ ‘s okay.” You glance at the alarm clock. “You can crash here. Bex’ll be thrilled. I think you left some sweats here from last time…”

“That’d be...yeah. Thanks. Do you mind if I…?” He gestures to the bathroom and you flop a sleepy hand in his direction granting permission and let your head fall back on the pillow.

You fall asleep to the sound of his chuckle, and the knowledge that all of your friends would lose their collective match-making minds if they knew Steve occasionally crashed at your place - in your bed no less, however platonically.

Sometime not too much later, you feel the mattress dip. The air - even half asleep - has turned awkward. Tension is literally pouring off of Steve as he lays, stiff as a board beside you.

You crack one eye open. “Steve, it’s fine. Go to sleep.”

“Y/n?” His voice, uncharacteristically small, has you opening the other eye. “Can I…”

You nod, and without another word, Steve wraps a massive arm around you and pulls you close, half-cuddling, half-squeezing.

“Bad mission?” You don’t need to ask to know, even as he nods against the top of your head.

You’ll never tell Sam or Pepper about these nights - the nights when Steve just needs to be held, needs physical connection without expectation of anything else, anything  _ more _ . He needs touch without the weight of a shield at his back, without the mantle of ‘Captain’ hanging over him. The list of people he can trust to that extent - to just be  _ Steve _ \- is short, so short there’s no way you can withhold it from him, your proud and strong soulmate who really believes he has to be superhuman all the time.

So you let him curl that massive body around you, and the pair of you drift off eventually, your fingers carding through his hair as you hum Bex’s favorite lullabye.

You wake to the absence of heat and the smell of pancakes wafting from the kitchen, and it’s such a moment of feeling home, of feeling like family, it makes your heart swell.

You slide from bed, stretching out all the kinks from running herd on a rabble of sugar-hyped kids, and make your way out to the kitchen.

“Hey guys, what’s for break-” The question chokes in your throat.

Steve is sitting at the counter, hands placed firmly down, tension making his entire body rigid as he glares mutinously at his doppelgänger, flipping pancakes on the stovetop while another man in a full tactical suit from head to toe holds a gun on him. His eyes slide to you, and the third body in the room turns.

Brock Rumlow, holding your baby girl, gives you an amicable smile. “Hey, there she is! Good morning sleepyhead. We thought you were going to sleep the whole morning away, didn’t we?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone wondering, 'Bex' is short for Rebecca - I just really dislike spelling 'Becks'


	24. The Beginning In The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: This is the last chapter in this work dear readers. Thank you so much for commenting and kudos-ing; you've been an absolute delight to write for! Don't miss the notes at the bottom.
> 
> And in advance: I'm sorry.
> 
> I'm so, so sorry
> 
> Sorta

_ Brock Rumlow, holding your baby girl, gives you an amicable smile. “Hey, there she is! Good morning sleepyhead. We thought you were going to sleep the whole morning away, didn’t we?”  _ He asks, fingers tickling at Bex’s sides.

Your daughter isn’t buying the benevolent tone - she gives him the kind of side eye that would make any one of her uncles proud and then reaches for you.

You move to take her, but Brock shakes his head and steps back. “Ah, ah, ah.” He tsks. “This little angel stays with me so Mommy and Daddy remember to behave.”

You’ll kill him for putting his hands on your baby girl, you really will.

“How did you get here?” You manage to grit from between clenched teeth.

Rumlow shrugs. “Stark. Found a way to create on-demand breaches. Took a while.” His tone is conversational as he moves back to the counter, placing Bex on his legs as Rogers slides a plate of pancakes over. “Sit, y/n. After Rogers went through all that trouble, we’re going to eat breakfast before we go.”

“We’re not going anywhere with you.” Diamonds could be ground to dust in Steve’s jaw right now as he watches Rumlow feed your daughter bits of pancake.

You know exactly how he feels - your hands are clenching around imaginary weapons.

“You’re not invited.” Rogers says to Steve, and  _ god _ , it's so weird to have two Steve Rogers in the room at the same time, even if one is bearded and wearing the Commander Hydra suit with the other is in sweats and a t-shirt.

“He’s right.” Rumlow says, wiping off a spill of syrup.

You’re about ready to have a heart attack from the fear of watching those hands - those violent, violent hands - move with surprising gentleness as he shifts Bex, who is watching all the adults in the room very, very closely in between pancake bites. “What are you here for?”

The look Rumlow levels at you says to stop playing stupid. “What do you think?”

“Leave her here.” 

Quick confusion, then realization and the tension in Steve’s body ratchets up another notch and you watch those hands curl against the counter top as he sends an incendiary look towards the man holding a gun on him.

You can’t think about him right now.

Just Bex.

“You leave Bex here, I’ll come with you.”

“You’ll come with me if I take...Bex, is it? And you’ll behave because this little cutie,” He bops her on the nose and she tries to bite his finger and oh, god your heart just about stops in its chest until you realize he’s smiling at her. “Is my insurance policy.”

His smirk says he’s won and he knows it.

Neither you or Steve will do anything that might put Bex’s life in jeopardy, even if the thought of stepping back through a breach has drained the color from your face and sent your stomach twisting into knots so sharp and hard you feel like you’re going to throw up.

“Have a pancake, Sunshine,” Rumlow tells you, pulling out the chair next to him. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, after all.”

_ Earth 31 _

The command room is on fire as he walks in.

Not literally - thank god, though that’s definitely happened more than once in the last five years - but with the buzz of gossip and whispers of rumor. From the not-so-low volume, it's juicy, whatever it is.

He hates the sound of it, but he gets it. People are nosy by nature, and it keeps them going, giving them something to look forward to other than the next hunt for Hydra bases and spies and resources.

They’ve spent the last five years hunting them all down after they destroyed Stark Tower, and every time they take a base, a team, an operation from Hydra, he feels an indescribable pleasure humming through him. It’s like a high.

It’s the only thing that keeps him moving forward under the numbness.

James Buchannon Barnes has been slipping away from humanity since he watched you, bleeding and unconscious, carried through a portal to another world, disappear.

He doesn’t even know if you’re alive.

Maybe that’s for the best, because if he knew for certain that you were alive, he would want to find a way to go back on his word. To cross the multiverse and tell you ‘the hell with soulmates’ and find a way to convince you to somehow, someway, be with him.

Barton and Nat are waiting for him, Nat chewing on her lip, and Barton with his arms crossed over his chest. They both shoot him a sideways glance.

Oh, he realizes. Bad news.

“What happened?” He asks without any of the niceties.

Nat sighs. “We just got satellite surveillance back from Mac.”

Everything in him comes alive - Mac had been on Rumlow’s trail for weeks now. “Did he find him?”

Barton nods, a clipped motion, tense. “Yeah. Yeah, and he’s not alone. Rogers and Stark are there too.”

“Great. Makes it easier to get them all. Drop a bomb on it and we’ll I.D. the bodies afterwards.”

“There’s someone else there,” Nat’s face is saying something, something he can’t read. She looks...apologetic as she passes him the file of photos.

“We don’t know how long she’s been there…” Barton manages to say before all the air vanishes from the room, taking sound and all other awareness with it.

Your face.

Your face is staring up at him from Mac’s surveillance photos.

He can’t breathe.

He really, really, can’t breathe.

His legs go out from under him and he hits the floor hard enough for his knees to feel it and the pictures go spilling across the floor as his chest heaves, as he tries to drag in another lungful of air. 

You, staring out a window.

Being escorted into a building from a car.

Face carefully neutral, sitting at a dinner table with Rumlow.

Something catches his eye at the bottom of a photograph and, still unable to hear the words Barton and Nat are saying, he pulls it out of the scattered pile.

The picture is shaking.

No, he realizes,  _ his hands _ are shaking, causing the paper to wobble as he looks down at you, holding a child’s hand in your own as you point at a butterfly in a garden.

The little girl looks so much like you it’s painful. A little carbon copy, with baby fat and a bright smile as her other chubby hand is stretched out, reaching for the flower next to her.

“We’re going to get her out, James.” Nat promises him as reality comes rushing back.

He blinks up at her and Barton, then pushes to his feet. Around them, the command room has gone quiet, people making for the exits, leaving him alone with the two master assassins and all the pictures still scattered across the floor.

“What do we know?”

Barton shakes his head. “Not a whole helluva lot. Five days ago, Rumlow and Rogers took off, hell-bent for the Sierra Nevada facility. When they came back, they had Stark and y/n with them.”

“The kid?” He asks, because he can’t stop himself.

“Looks about four or five years old. That’s all we’ve got. Odds are…” Nat swallows as her own eyes dart down to the picture of you in that garden. “Odds are good that Rumlow’s using the kid as a hostage. Otherwise I’d imagine she’d have melted his face off by now.”

“We have to get her out of there.” There isn’t any numbness left inside of him and he’s scrambling to manage the overload of emotions coursing through him. It’s like a fucking hurricane inside of him - fear, excitement, anger, joy, oh fuck, the _fear_...He squeezes his eyes shut, tight. Jesus, he has to get a  _ grip _ . “Nat…”

“I know,” She says, and he can read the seriousness in her eyes. “We’ll get her out of there, James. We will.”

He stares back down at your face. 

Hang in there, y/n, he thinks. We're coming for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: The title of this chapter kinda sums it up - there'll be another work in this world (coming sometime after the new year) but for now, I have to take a break from the world of Widening Gap and put my energy and time towards some non-writing projects 
> 
> Thank you, again, for reading and commenting and AHHHH-ing and just being the loveliest bunch of readers


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